One Thing Leads to Another
by Avirra
Summary: Los Angeles - Manditory retirement from the field is about to do what T.H.R.U.S.H. couldn't - break up the team of Solo/Kuryakin. But L.A. is the new home to a team that's just beginning.  What happens when the Men from U.N.C.L.E. and A-Team collide?
1. Chapter 1

_As they used to say on Monty Python - and now for something completely different. This is dedicated to **MLAW **and should be taken as a cautionary tale about the relative wisdom of letting two folks with insomnia talk over odd story ideas._

_For those wondering - no, I am not doing this as a satire. I plan to approach it as I do my usual A-Team and MFU fanfic. For those deciding to come along for the ride, I will attempt not to make it too bumpy (at least for the readers - the characters have to watch out for themselves)._

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><p><strong>One Thing Leads to Another<strong>

**Part I - U.N.C.L.E. in L.A.**

Napoleon dropped his bag on one of the hotel beds and glanced to the window. Los Angeles. Nice enough place, at least if you weren't there to locate a T.H.R.U.S.H. operation and put it out of business. Then his eyes caught sight of a calendar hanging on the wall. What kind of hotel would put a calendar in their rooms? He gave it a sour look.

"Less than six months left."

"One hundred and seventy-two days to be precise, tovarich."

The sour look was transferred from the calendar to the back of the blonde head belonging to his long-time partner. He was beginning to wonder about the best friend part. The sour look bled into his voice.

"Counting down the days until you're going to be rid of me, chum?"

The glance over his shoulder at Napoleon made Illya sigh. Ever since his last birthday, Napoleon had been growing more disgruntled by the day.

"Hardly. Do you really think I want to spend my own last months as a field agent breaking in a new partner and having to put up with hearing him slaughter the pronunciation of my name on a daily basis?"

"You claim that **I **still slaughter your name on a daily basis. What's the difference?"

"The difference is that after all of our years together, I have come to view the way you say it as a nickname. So from you, it has an endearing quality. With a stranger, I might be forced to strangle them."

"Oh, so now I'm endearing?"

"You must be or I surely would have shot you by now just to give you a reason for your constant ill-humor these days."

Napoleon gave a slight sigh and sank down to sit on the edge of the foot of his bed.

"I have rather been a bear, haven't I? Sorry, partner. Not like any of it is your fault."

"You should try speaking again with Mister Waverly. Or as an alternative, I could break into the personnel files and alter your records."

Illya took getting a laugh – even a short one – as a triumph and sat down at the end of his own bed, giving Napoleon that small half-smile that was the equivalent of back-flips from a more demonstrative person. When Napoleon just smiled back but didn't comment, Illya pressed on.

"I am serious and I do think I have a point, Napoleon. If we can be retired early due to physical condition, I do not see why our time could not be extended so long as we are still able to meet or exceed basic standards. In my own case, I know that my reflexes are not so fast as they were when I was in my twenties, but I like to believe my experiences have more than compensated. And I know that were I granted a choice, I would choose the skills I have gained over the speed of youth at any time."

Napoleon couldn't resist a tease.

"Even with lovemaking?"

"**Especially** with lovemaking. I have yet to meet the woman that judges such matters by the time on a stop-watch."

"Touché'. Point taken. And I agree, by the way."

"On which topic? We have covered more than one, my friend."

"Well, all of them actually, but the one I meant was regarding physical qualifications for the job."

"Ah. Excellent then. I will write up the proposal and give it to Mister Waverly."

"You?"

"Well of course me. At the rate you do paperwork, you would have been retired for over a year before you had the first draft of the proposal completed."

"Hardy-har-har."

Opening his suitcase, Napoleon pulled out his toiletries bag, then glanced back over to Illya.

"Illya? I was thinking about us grabbing something to eat. What do you say?"

"Sounds preferable to something grabbing us. Since you are uncharacteristically being the first to bring up food, I assume you already have something in mind."

"That easy to read, am I?"

"Napoleon, other than the Waverlys, I do not know any married couples that have been together as long as we have been partners. I have learned by this point to read between your lines. Which you are getting more of."

Napoleon tossed a comb at Illya that the Russian didn't even bother to swat away or duck.

"You aren't exactly getting younger yourself, you know."

"Just better, but that is beside the current topic, which is food. What is that you had in mind?"

"Remember my old friend Ercole? One of his sons has opened a place of his own out here. I thought we could try it out. See if he inherited his father's flair."

"Yes - I remember Ercole. Fine. Even if the son's food is only half as good as his father's, it will still be a cut above most others. Perhaps we will even make it to the dessert course before you abandon me until tomorrow."

"What makes you think I'd abandon you?"

"Any number of reasons. Blonde, brunette, redhead and even the occasional silver-haired one these days."

"Practicing for a new career as a comedian?"

"Who is joking? So - what time were you thinking that we would head to - what is the name of the restaurant?"

"Amintore's. Let's say seven? Did you have plans?"

"There are a few shops I wanted to visit before we get down to work tomorrow, but I will be finished with what I wish to do by that time. And how will you be spending your afternoon, Napoleon?"

"Honestly? I think I'll grab a nap. I never could sleep as well on a plane as you can."

"Do you have your gun?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Nothing. I think I will keep the remarks about you feeling your age to myself. though."

"Consider yourself lucky that I hate writing reports about 'accidental' firearm discharges in hotel rooms."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II - And Pilot Makes Four**

"Murdock, will you just calm down and quit looking at the road behind us every two minutes? Nobody is after us. And even if they were, I don't think they could catch us if I opened this baby up."

Face gave the steering wheel of his Corvette a loving pat as Murdock looked over the interior of the car.

"Easy for you to say, muchacho. You aren't the one with the permanent reservation in the rubber room."

"No - just the guy skipping my appointment with a firing squad. Come on, buddy - let's not think about that junk. Me and you? We're going to have a whole week together. Just like we always talked about doing back over in 'Nam. Nobody shooting at us. Just beaches, sun and fun."

Murdock just took a deep breath and then nodded before tilting back his head and letting out a howl. He hadn't done that since leaving Vietnam. Felt pretty good. Bouncing the passenger seat a little, Murdock reached over and patted the dashboard.

"This is the latest model year, isn't it, Faceman? How you swing something like - never mind. I forgot who I was speaking to for a minute."

Taking that as a compliment, Face beamed, then reached over and gave his friend a nudge on the shoulder.

"We've almost there. We're going to be meeting the Colonel and B.A. just outside of L.A."

"So, what is it he wanted to see me about? Not that I don't want to see everyone, of course. It's been too long since we've been together. We are going to be together? I am going to see them, right?"

"Yes, you'll be seeing them in just a few more minutes. Sorry, pal. I promised Hannibal that I wouldn't spill the beans."

"That's an odd saying. I can't imagine why spilling beans would make anyone upset. Unless it was pork and beans. That's just messy."

Face just chuckled at that.

"That's more the Murdock I remember. Don't change, buddy."

"I have to change, Face. Otherwise my socks get all stiff. And we won't even talk about my boxers. I wonder why they call them boxers? Why not poodles?"

"Could you imagine telling a guy to pull up his poodles?"

"I guess you have a point there, Faceman. Hey! Is that B.A. and Hannibal?"

Smirking, Hannibal gave a wave back to the wildly waving Murdock as B.A. just sighed.

"Tell me again why this is a good idea, Hannibal. Fool's not right in the head."

"He's one of us, B.A. Exactly how many of the three of us would be alive right now if it wasn't for Murdock?"

Fingering the single thick gold chain he was wearing, B.A. sighed again.

"None of us. You're right. He's one of us. Don't mean I want to be catchin' his crazy though."

As soon as the Corvette came to a stop, Murdock came bouncing out like super-high ball from a vending machine. Before B.A. had time to fend him off, Murdock had attached himself to the side of the burly black man like Velcro. Face was trying without a great deal of success not to laugh at the expression on B.A. He just wished he'd had a camera. Of course, if B.A. had seen him taking a picture, he'd probably have made him eat it. Camera and all.

Before B.A. could growl or curse or shove Murdock away, he heard the tremors in the pilot's voice and froze. Was Murdock crying?

"I never thought I'd see you guys again."

Awkwardly, B.A. gave the still-clinging man a pat.

"Well - guess I sorta missed you too, Fool. But what's this fuss all about?"

Face had joined them by now and laid a hand on Murdock's back, looking at Hannibal.

"Some jerk sent Murdock a telegram informing him of our deaths, Colonel. I thought for a minute that he was going to pass out when he recognized me."

"Face told me you guys were okay. I guess I was just afraid it would turn out to be me imagining what I wanted to hear."

Hannibal's scowl matched B.A.'s as he moved over to form a tight knot with his men. He had a decent idea exactly who that jerk might have been.

"We all made it out, Captain. All of four of us. We three are going to be settling down in L.A. Plenty of places for us to stay under the radar. And we're going to be working as a team again. I want you to be part of that with us, Murdock."

Detaching himself somewhat apologetically from B.A., Murdock gave his damp face a rough swipe, then looked into B.A.'s eyes.

"Do you want that as well, Big Guy?"

As many trepidations as B.A. had about Murdock's mental state, he couldn't bring himself to say anything cruel to someone who had been so torn up over thinking that he'd lost them all.

"Yeah, I do, Fool. Like the Colonel said, you're one of us. Just keep your crazy to yourself."

That got a chuckle out of Murdock.

"You make it sound like a cold. That would be neat if you could spread it by sneezing. No, that's wrong. You'd probably have to spread crazy by laughing. Or hiccups. Probably hiccups because hiccups are more like sneezing and coughing."

"Same jibber-jabber, just a different topic."

Hannibal gave Murdock's shoulder a little squeeze.

"Well, Captain? Your choice. Are you with us?"

The grin that broke out reminded all of them of before. Before the POW camp. Before the crash.

"I'm with you."

"In that case? Gentlemen, the A-Team is open for business."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III - The Opposition**

Tossing the folder down on her desk, Shennelle refused to frown. Frowning caused unattractive wrinkling and when a woman made her fortune from a combination of her ruthlessness and her looks, wrinkles were a thing to be avoided as much as possible. Idiots. But idiots with money, which made her tolerate them far more than she would otherwise.

Whoever had written up the information package that had been delivered to her was apparently totally besotted with Agent Kuryakin. The write-up on him was fairly thorough. Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin - Russian with an easily discernable accent despite a number of years in the United States - known to be very protective of his partner - around five foot nine - approximately one hundred and fifty pounds - slight but muscular build - tendency to dress in mostly black clothing - longish blonde hair - pale skin - blue eyes that could freeze a flame. Honestly, did they hire a teenage girl to do his profile?

Then the information on Agent Solo. Sketchy. Ridiculously sketchy. Napoleon Solo. American - like that would make him stand out in Los Angeles. Around five foot eleven - average. Tendency to dress stylishly - not exactly rare in L.A. considering the Hollywood community. Womanizer with a roguish charm - equally common in the L.A. area. Vague, vague, vague.

The only thing that was the saving grace was the fact that she had been assured that if you located Illya Kuryakin, you located Napoleon Solo. If the packet was to be believed, they were practically joined at the hip. That was bound to be an exaggeration, of course. Still, it was just another item of annoyance.

Whatever else could be said for this organization called T.H.R.U.S.H., they were willing to meet her going rate. A sizable retainer had already made its way into her Swiss account with the rest of it to be deposited once Solo and Kuryakin had been turned over to whatever fates T.H.R.U.S.H. had in mind for them. At that point, it would certainly no longer be any concern of hers what became of them.

Part of her front money had already been spent on getting herself some eyes on the hotels most likely to be used. Apparently, U.N.C.L.E. was ruled by a frugal hand and that reduced the possibilities for where they would be staying. Shennelle only wished that she could have given her people an actual photograph of Kuryakin and Solo to go by instead of just a description. Idiots. They should have provided pictures of both targets. She took another deep breath and reminded herself once again of the amount that they were paying her.

It was mid-afternoon before her surveillance bore fruit. A man matching Kuryakin's description had been spotted leaving one of the hotels and followed to a book store. While he was inside, Shennelle called in her other people from hotel watching and reassigned them to trading off the duty of following Kuryakin. If the faces changed constantly, he should remain unaware of the fact that he was being followed.

She also told the man who first spotted Kuryakin to wait until after the agent had left the book store and then go inside to find out what the agent had been inquiring about. It might help in confirming his identity.

When the report came back a little over an hour later, she was positive that she had her man. He had been specifically asking for books in Russian. Feeling much better about the way this contract would turn out, Shennelle began to prepare herself for going out that evening. One thing she learned early in her career about dealing with agents? Move as quickly as possible and never wait over twenty-four hours. Agents tended to have very sensitive antennae attuned to things not being quite right. The longer they were in one area, the better they picked up those differences, so she liked to strike during the period of acclimatizing.

Brushing out her hair, she mentally went over three different clothing ensembles. Each flattering, but each attuned to a different social strata. The men were bound to eventually go and get something to eat. Once she found out where, she would make her final selection as to which would go best with the setting.

Step one would be to separate the pair. Shennelle had no doubts that trying to take them down at the same time would be a fatal error. Since the packet mentioned Kuryakin's protectiveness over Solo, the best plan would likely be to ensnare Solo first and then use him as leverage over Kuryakin.

Smiling at her reflection, she couldn't imagine the slightest difficulty in luring a known womanizer off to himself. Perhaps she should go ahead and take a few minutes to compose the message to be delivered to Kuryakin afterward? Something to imply that Solo was only taken to get Kuryakin's cooperation and that Solo would be released unharmed if Kuryakin did as he was told? Tapping her lip lightly with a perfectly sculpted fingernail, Shennelle decided that was a good start, but it needed some fine tuning. Perhaps she could even get the note written up in Russian. That would point even stronger to Kuryakin being the one that was wanted. She might even try and make it sound like the KGB was behind it.

Examining her nails to see if she needed any touchups, Shennelle began to hum. Everything was starting to fall neatly into place. Just the way she liked them to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV - The Shopping Trip**

Napoleon had placed his shoes on the provided rack before lying back on his hotel bed, watching Illya getting ready to go out.

"I really need to get you to add some color to your wardrobe one day, tovarich."

Illya looked down at himself, then back to his partner.

"I did add color."

"Grey does not count as a color. It's just black that's been through a few too many washes."

"You have been bringing up this subject for what? Over eight years now? Perhaps when my own time to retire comes, I will try more variation. Perhaps navy blue."

From the barely detectable smirk on his face and the way that he deftly sidestepped the thrown pillow, Illya had been expecting that reaction from Napoleon. Picking the pillow back up and tossing it lightly back, Illya adjusted his shoulder harness slightly and double checked where he had a pair of throwing blades concealed before sliding on his jacket to cover it all.

"I will see you at seven."

"Watch out for rogue shoppers, chum."

Shaking his head, Illya closed the drapes and turned out the lights for Napoleon on his way out. He hoped the book store that he'd discovered on his last visit to L.A. was still in business. While there were other places where he could find a few books or newspapers in Russian, he liked to be able to browse through a selection that included more than a single shelf worth of items. He considered it a plus that the store was only a few blocks from their hotel. He much preferred a stroll to having to deal with a taxicab.

He was almost to the store when Illya began to get the nagging feeling that he was being watched. Despite the desire to pick up his pace, he maintained the same speed. He decided to browse a shelf that gave him a view of the sidewalk first. No-one was standing out to him as being suspicious, so he went further into the store.

Options ran through his mind as he ran a finger lightly along the spine of one of the books. One - he was imagining things. That theory was discarded almost immediately. He admittedly had his faults, but an overly active imagination was not one of them. Two - someone had possibly been considering him as a target of some sort. Possibly a mugging. That theory had possibilities and remained in contention. Third - someone had been viewing him with some other sort of interest in mind. Also viable. Fourth and last - he had been recognized and was being followed for that reason. Also possible. It wasn't as if he were a new agent and an unknown factor.

Just then, his attention was pulled away by a title that he didn't already have among his small collection at his home. Napoleon had teased that his idea of furnishing an apartment consisted of a bed, a refrigerator, a hot plate, a table, a couch and a bookshelf. At least Illya was assuming he was teasing. The tone he had used was the one that Napoleon tended to use when making a joke - even though the assessment of what was in his apartment was fairly accurate. Napoleon had also called Illya's place 'spartan', which he claimed was a Greek word meaning 'empty'.

After purchasing the book, Illya found a few other small stores in the area to look through until he stepped out of a shop and noticed it was nearly six. He had actually grown bored of his excursion by now besides which, he was still bothered by that nagging feeling of being observed. Apparently a relaxing afternoon was simply not going to occur, so he moved to signal a cab. It wasn't long before one glided to a stop by the curb.

"Where is it you're wanting to go?"

"Do you know of a restaurant called Amintore's?"

"Sure thing - hop in, pal."

Settling down in the backseat, Illya idly looked out over the buildings that they were passing. He'd be getting to the restaurant early, but perhaps he would have some time to study the menu, have some tea and allow the tension that had built up to ease off some.

As the cab came to a stop, Illya paid his fare while studying the restaurant. Apparently Ercole's son must be doing quite well. There was already quite a crowd, so it seemed as if waiting for a table was going to be inevitable.

He had just resigned himself to leaning against a wall when a waiter approached him and Illya found himself being asked if he and his expected friend would possibly be willing to share one of the larger tables with another group of diners. Although his first thought was to refuse, Illya reconsidered. First off, it wasn't as if he and Napoleon would be discussing business of any sort in a public restaurant as crowded as this one. Second, odds were exceptionally good that if Napoleon was napping now, it was because he was planning on pursuing female companionship later. The odds might be against it, but if there were others at the table, one might be someone he could converse with rather than just heading back to their room and reading. Lastly, he was feeling just mischievous enough that he wanted to see the expression on Napoleon's face when he came to the table.

"That would be perfectly acceptable - that is, if they also do not mind."

The waiter assured him that the others had already agreed to the arrangements and led Illya over to the table.

To his surprise, there were only two others there at a table that could easily hold eight. His immediate accessment was that both men were not your average man on the street. Something about the eyes, but nothing too glaringly obvious.

The younger looking of the two stood as Illya came up, offering a hand over as the man next to him got to his feet as well.

"Looks like we'll be sharing a table. Templeton Peck. This is my friend, H.M. Murdock."

Taking the offered hand, Illya shook it firmly.

"Illya Kuryakin. My friend, Napoleon, will be joining us a little later."

Illya then offered his hand to the other man. He didn't get startled too easily but when the taller man grinned like a kid, shook his hand and spoke to him, he was a bit surprised.

"Priyatno poznakomitʹsya, Illya Kuryakin."

While the man's accent might not have been the best, he had managed to pronounce everything correctly - including his name. Between his earlier disquiet and this, Illya was beginning to wonder if he had just walked into some rather elaborate trap.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V - Abandoned Puppies and Pilots**

Hannibal really hated to call a halt to the reunion - especially after finding out what Murdock had been going through. Trouble was, time was limited. He and B.A. had an appointment to keep that could make a huge difference to the team and to make it, they needed to get going.

"Murdock, Face? B.A. and I have to go for now, but we'll be back later tonight. You boys head on into the city and have something to eat."

Feeling a poke, Hannibal looked over his shoulder and met B.A.'s eyes. He wasn't quite sure what message the Sergeant was trying to tell him until he looked back to note a very downcast pilot. Hannibal moved closer, reached over and took hold of his man's shoulder again, then handed him a small card. Maybe a reminder that they weren't really going to be that far away would help.

"Hey - if you need us, you can reach us at this number, son. We aren't going to disappear on you."

Murdock forced a smile and took the card. That didn't mean he liked how short their time together was, but he accepted it. Other thoughts had been stirred to the surface though and they made Murdock feel more than a little nauseous. He had to swallow hard before speaking, praying that he wouldn't sound whiney.

"We'll see you guys tonight then?"

B.A. came over, pulled off Murdock's ball cap and ruffled his hair before plunked the cap back down.

"Yeah, we'll see you tonight, Fool. Go on and catch up with Face tonight. We all got time to get reacquainted now."

The smile was still a bit forced, but not as stiff anymore. B.A. even managed not to roll his eyes when Murdock gave him another quick hug before breaking away. Even so, not being able to go with them was bothering the pilot. He didn't say a thing to Face while he watched as they climbed into B.A.'s van to leave.

He continued watching until Hannibal and B.A. had driven out of sight. Murdock even took a single step in the direction that they'd gone without realizing it. Face had the uncomfortable memory of seeing someone abandon a puppy on the side of the road and then driving away from it. The same slightly confused and hurt look he'd seen back then was in Murdock's eyes now. This was one of those times that he wished he understood a little better the frequency that Murdock's mind operated on. It would make it easier to comfort the man, he was sure. The best Face could manage was to use a coaxing tone.

"Come on, buddy. Let's get back in the car."

The way Murdock had bounded out of the car earlier was completely unlike the rather listless way he returned to it. Face couldn't be sure what all was to blame, but he felt fairly sure that it wasn't just B.A. and Hannibal leaving. Well, maybe the time had come to flat out ask.

"Murdock? Hey, talk to me, pal. There's something go on under your ball cap, but I can't figure it out."

Flopping with boneless grace into the passenger seat, Murdock didn't look toward Face as he spoke softly.

"The Colonel said the three of you are going to be settling down here. He's - that means he's going to make me go back, isn't he?"

Face didn't have to ask about where 'back' referred to. Murdock had been in a VA ward and nowhere else since returning from Vietnam. He started the car and started them on their way before he spoke softly.

"It's the best place for you right now, Murdock. The three of us are fugitives. You don't have to live like that. And besides, at the VA hospital, you can get some help."

Murdock murmured something that Face couldn't make out and just stared out of the window. Face made another attempt.

"Hey - it's not like you won't be coming back out on a regular basis. Didn't I prove that I can get you out when we want to get you out?"

_What about when __**I **__want to get out?_

He didn't say that out loud though and he didn't want to sound like a kid that was afraid to go to the doctor. Those people worried him though. Not all of them or even most of them, but there were a few that made him leery. Especially after they figured out all of his family was dead. People that could laugh after finding out something like that about a person? Creepy. Ultra-creepy.

Instead of voicing his concerns and fears, Murdock firmly shoved them down and went back to focusing on what Face had said.

"How did you pull off convincing them that you're a doctor any way, Faceman? I mean - you're only 22, for pity's sake."

"Geeze, Murdock. The way you say that makes it sound like I busted out of the Maternity unit. Besides, I've managed to pass for 28 before. It's all in the attitude."

"Hey - you want me to believe that you can pull off looking older that 22, you need to cut out the pouting and eye rolling, muchacho. How about you give me a demonstration? Try and spend the evening passing as a 28 year old."

"You're on. Say, how would you feel about Italian food?"

"I like it fine. You already have a place in mind?"

"Sure do. I've already been there once. Hasn't been open long. It's a little place called Amintore's."

"Sounds a little fancier than I'm used to these days. Uh, Face - am I about to be pulling wingman duty? 'Cause as a pilot, I should be exempt from that."

Chuckling, Face pulled into the parking area for the hotel they were going to be staying in that night. Once parked, he reached over and draped an arm over Murdock's shoulders.

"Not wingman. How about we phrase the coming mission for you as one of aerial recon for me?"

"How about we remember that I'm crazy, but not stupid? Since your plans mean that I'm likely going to be flying solo before midnight, you're buying supper."

"Fair enough. Come on, buddy. Let's go inside and get ready."

"I'm wearing the jacket, you know."

"I know."

Even though they arrived at the restaurant fairly early, it seemed that the word of mouth on the restaurant had really taken off. A small tip (or bribe) to the maitre d' gained them places at one of the larger tables usually reserved for parties of 6 to 10 - with the stipulation that they would have to share with another set of diners. That didn't bother either Face or Murdock in the slightest.

Settling down at the table, Murdock started looking over the menu as Face started looking over the room. He managed to keep himself from whistling. Pricey place.

Movement across the way drew Face's eye and he saw the maitre d' start to lead a blonde haired man in their direction. Just one other guy? That seemed odd, but Face went ahead and stood to greet the man. His movement alerted Murdock that they now had company, so the pilot lowered his menu and got to his feet himself.

Offering over his hand, Face decided to stick with real names. Murdock didn't need anything else putting him on edge tonight.

"Looks like we'll be sharing a table. Templeton Peck. This is my friend, H.M. Murdock."

Face couldn't quite put a finger on the age of the blonde. He sort of looked around Murdock's age, but then again, something about him struck Face as being older. Maybe that was just because Murdock often acted like a kid though. At any rate, the blonde man took Face's hand firmly before offering it next to Murdock.

"Illya Kuryakin. My friend, Napoleon, will be joining us a little later."

Just as with the age, Face couldn't quite place the accent either. But Murdock had broken out of his somberness and was now acting more like his regular self as he took hold of Illya's hand.

"Priyatno poznakomitʹsya, Illya Kuryakin."

It struck Face that Murdock had nailed the man's origins from the way he reacted, but that seemed to cause this Illya fellow to go more guarded than relaxed. Still as he released Murdock's hand, the man managed a slight smile.

"I should hire you to teach Napoleon how to pronounce my name. Of course, he may already know how to say it perfectly well and just mispronounces it now to vex me."

"Nobody can annoy us more than those who know us best."

"You have a point there, Mister Murdock."

"Please, just Murdock is fine. Sorry for rattling off there. I don't get a lot of chances to use my Russian, so I'd guess my accent stinks."

"I have heard worse. Is part of your family Russian?"

"Nope. I just love languages. Always have."

Coffee and tea were ordered and the three men found small talk easy enough to maintain to the point of a comfortable chatter without extended awkward silences. The fact that both men were former military came out just from some of the terms that they used without thinking. Illya's own former military experiences helped bridge the gap that always exists to at least some extent between military and civilians.

A very attractive woman came over to the table. From her initial words, Murdock had the impression that she knew Peck, but Peck's expression - a combination of pleased and puzzled - convinced the pilot that he had no clue who this woman was. She quickly became embarrassed and apologized for the mistaken identity.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Face told the woman that it was quite alright and even offered to buy her a drink to show here that there were no hard feelings. Murdock met Illya's eyes with a look that said this wasn't the first time something like that happened. Face excused himself from the other men and offered the woman his arm.

After they were out of range, Murdock shrugged.

"He'll be back shortly. At least, he'd better be. He's supposed to be the one paying."

Their waiter came by with fresh tea for them both. Murdock hoped he had enough cash on him to cover his and Face's drinks. He didn't have enough on him for food, not at this place's prices. He also wondered if the restaurant would be mad about the table space they'd taken up without ordering actual meals. His train of thought was interrupted as Illya spoke again. He sounded sympathetic - like he'd been in a similar situation before himself.

"Considering the look in your friend's eyes and the lady's charms, I do not know that I would count on him returning in the near future."

"Me either."

Murdock just looked at his tea, then gave a slight sigh. For some reason, a Japanese proverb sprang to his mind and he said it without thinking. In Japanese.

"Koi ni ochiru mae ni taberu."

He could practically feel the pale blue eyes studying him, but currently Murdock was feeling too abandoned to care. Then the man spoke back to him. In Japanese.

"Gyōza wa hana yori mo sugurete iru."

That got Murdock's attention as well as getting a soft laugh out of him.

"Dumplings are better than flowers?"

"Yes, I know the saying is meant to be sarcastic, but they are to me. Then again, I have often been accused of taking food far too seriously. So you were not just saying that you like languages. How many do you speak?"

"Well enough to say that I can? Eight, I guess."

"Impressive. I cannot say that I have met that many multi-lingual Americans."

Grateful for something different to focus on, Murdock started to say something else but ended up giving a puzzled look as the maître d' came back over to their table with an envelope in hand.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, but I have a message to deliver to Mister Kuryakin."

"That would be me. Thank you."

As the maître d' left again, Murdock watched with silent curiosity as Illya seemed to study the front of the envelope with a frown. Finally, he opened it - neatly and with an economy of movement. A single piece of paper was extracted, unfolded and read. Murdock didn't think he'd ever seen anyone's eyes change like that before. It was almost like watching as frost formed on a window.

"Chyort voz'mi!"

From that, Murdock got the distinct feeling that he was about to be the only one left at the table.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part VI – Spiders and Webs**

Within minutes of Illya speaking to the taxicab driver, Shennelle was slipping into a silk dress that was nearly the same shade of emerald green as her eyes. It would fit in with the clientele at Amintore's, but not blend in. Blending in? That was just not something that was ever her goal. She wanted to be the most desirable flower of the bouquet, not a single rose in the midst of a patch of clover. Standing out too much was worse than not standing out at all so far as she was concerned.

She took a good look at herself in the full-length glass. Perfect. Her dress was clingy – not tight – in all of the right places to make the most of her already abundant attributes. One last glimpse of herself to make sure her hair and makeup were equally flawless, then she was on her way.

She took care to kept current on any establishment that might come in handy in her trade, so this was hardly her first trip to Amintore's. Still, she was not quite prepared for the number of patrons lining the area. And that was not the end of the unpleasant surprises awaiting her. In fact, they seemed to multiply. Not a thing that she cared for in the least.

The next bit of unexpected surprise came when she had the table with her quarry at it pointed out to her. Her insides clenched when she realized that she recognized one of the men at the table. She only knew him by his codename of Howlin' Mad. The only good thing about his presence there was that it further confirmed in her mind that the other two were indeed the men she was after.

Another shock was her first good look at the two men. She had assumed that they would have been considerably older. Thinking back on it, her packet contained no age references, so that must have simply been a bad assumption on her part. Kuryakin? Well, the blonde looked to her eyes to be around thirty. His partner could pass for twenty-five without any difficulty. Definitely good looking in a model sort of way. Perhaps it was the amount of success that the team had had at their age that had T.H.R.U.S.H. so anxious to be rid of them?

Her eyes moved back to Howlin' Mad and she wondered if perhaps she might need to forfeit this job. While she hesitated, Shennelle thought back to that week in Croatia. It hadn't been her usual sort of job, but it had been another case of the money being far too good to turn down. The more she thought it through, the more she was almost certain that the pilot's attention had been firmly elsewhere when she had gotten her glimpse of him.

It was that 'almost' that gave her pause. If he did recognize her, everything – all of her planning – would be in ruins. Running the odds through her mind against the money she would earn took longer than usual. That was due to a nagging little voice in the back of her mind whispering that one day she would regret hinging decisions on the amount of money on the table. But today, the money once again decided the matter for her.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the table using a tested technique for her. Pretending to recognize the almost pretty man, Shennelle approached him and then shifted to embarrassment when it proved they weren't acquainted. The fact that he was using an alias didn't surprise her in the least – with an undercover agent, it would have been stranger if he had been using his own name. But Templeton Peck? Couldn't he have come up with a more believable name than that? She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was quite possible that name had been assigned to him.

As anticipated, drawing him away from the table proved to be simple enough. Drugging his drink was a bit trickier, but she managed. A few sips later and her paid help was removing him from the restaurant to take him to a secure location. She waited until the car he had been loaded into had driven off and her own car moved into position before moving to the maitre d' with a sealed envelope and a gratuity to insure that it would be delivered to Kuryakin immediately.

Humming to herself, she headed out to her car to wait. If the packet's information was accurate, in a matter of moments Kuryakin would be hers. The only problem was the unknown factor of Howlin' Mad. If she had known in advance that a CIA agent was going to be present, her price for this job would have gone up considerably.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part VII – Cry U.N.C.L.E.**

A glance at the time told Illya that Napoleon should be arriving before too much longer. Not that he was minding waiting at all. He was pleased that he'd ended up with someone that he could have a rather interesting conversation with. Murdock occasionally came out with an odd bit of pop culture, but it was obvious that the man was highly intelligent. There honestly weren't that many people around that Illya could trade quips in Japanese with. Well, not outside of Japan.

The interruption of their talk by the maitre d' to deliver an envelope was, at first, merely mildly annoying. Seeing his last name written on the envelope by a woman whose handwriting was unfamiliar to him nudged the sensation to the troubling stage. Opening the envelope and pulling out the letter to read shifted him fully from an annoyed man waiting for a meal to a highly annoyed agent.

"Chyort voz'mi!"

Illya glanced again at the time. If Napoleon had been running a bit early, there was indeed a chance he might have walked unknowing into an ambush. Illya inwardly scolded himself for not having called Napoleon at the hotel to warn him about the sensation he'd had earlier of being followed. Obviously he had been.

One thing he was fairly certain of was that, regardless of what the letter might imply, the KGB was not involved. Or at least their involvement was highly unlikely. This just wasn't their style. T.H.R.U.S.H. as a far more plausible candidate. In the end? It didn't really matter. One hundred and seventy-two days left or a thousand days left, he was not going to abandon his best friend and partner to whatever it was that he'd fallen into.

He could feel Murdock's eyes studying him and Illya felt a touch guilty about leaving the man all on his own. Taking out his wallet, he left enough cash to cover what they had all already consumed plus enough for Murdock and Peck (if he returned) to get full meals. After all, what money he had on him would likely be inside of an enemy pocket within the hour, so why not leave it behind for someone else to enjoy instead?

"Some people, it seems, have no respect for the sanctity of mealtime. I am sorry, but I must leave. I hope you will accept my offer to pay for your meals in the way of an apology. Perhaps we will be fortunate enough to meet again sometime and continue our conversation, Murdock."

The tall man rose, that slightly unreadable look still in his eyes as he offered his hand to Illya.

"I hope so, Illya. Udacha."

"Spasibo. I may need it."

They shook hands briefly before Illya turned to leave. He could still seem to feel those eyes following him and Illya suddenly got the distinct impression that Murdock was restraining himself from following after him. That rather intensified Illya's earlier impression that there something beyond what could be seen in him. But he put that thought about Murdock away into its own little compartment in his mind, took another deep breath and headed outside.

The car was where the note had said it would be, then he suddenly recalled that he had left the note on the table. Well, no going back for it now. The rear door nearest him swung open and Illya caught a glimpse of both emerald green silk and steel blue metal as the woman spoke.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mister Kuryakin. You'll be with your partner shortly."

Gritting his teeth to avoid making a remark he might regret before Napoleon was safe, Illya noted that the woman inside was, curiously enough, the same woman he had last seen leaving with Peck. As he sat, he was shoved further toward the center by a man who came in after him and closed the car door. Then movement ahead caught Illya's eye and he tried hard not to react as a taxi stopped ahead of them and Napoleon got out. A stinging sensation in his hip told him that he'd spotted his partner just a little too late. His last thought before blackness took him was wondering who had made the larger error - himself or the woman?

Straightening his cuffs after exiting the taxi, Napoleon strolled toward the entrance to the restaurant, wondering if Illya had already arrived. Considering the crowd, he hoped so. He really should have thought to call for reservations.

He was rather pleased when the maitre d' informed him that his party was already at the table. Trust Illya to be early where food was concerned. As they approached the table though, a faint frown began to form. The table was fairly large for one thing. For another, the man sitting there was most definitely not Illya.

The man, who Napoleon estimated at around thirty, was fully involved in a letter and didn't even seem to notice their approach. That is, until they were only two feet away. At that point, the man's head snapped up and a hesitant smile formed.

"Are you Napoleon? If so, man-o-man, do we need to talk."

As the maitre d' went back to his station, Napoleon cautiously viewed the man who was wearing an brown leather jacket that was totally at odds with the button up shirt and tie he wore underneath it. The man seemed more upset than anything, so Napoleon took a seat - not right next to him, but close enough to talk comfortably.

"Yes, I'm Napoleon. Where's Illya?"

"In a lot of trouble, would be my guess."

The man sighed then passed the letter that he had been looking at over to Napoleon, who felt his stomach sink as he saw that it was written in the Cyrillic alphabet.

"Where did this come from, Mister -?"

"Just Murdock, please. The maitre d' brought it over to the table. Listen, I came here with a friend myself. Good looking guy if he does say so himself. I'm starting to think that maybe they made a big mistake and kidnapped him. Because they obviously don't have you."

Napoleon looked back down to the letter again.

"You can read this."

"Yep."

Almost without thinking, Napoleon pulled his pen from his pocket and fingered it. He'd leave the table and see if -

Napoleon's train of thought was thoroughly derailed mid-thought by Murdock.

"Holy cow patties - you're with U.N.C.L.E."

There was a scant second of shock when Murdock seemed to know the pen for what it was before Napoleon smoothly covered it over with a look of confusion.

"I'm sorry, I think you must be mistaken. I don't know any of your relatives."

A look of annoyance shadowed over Murdock's face, but was quickly replaced by a grin.

"Mark Slate or April Dancer. Either one of them should be willing to vouch for me."

That pair of names gained Napoleon's full attention. Not that he was going to take Murdock's word for it, of course. Shifting so that his pen would be out of line-of-sight from others in the room, he activated it.

"Open channel D - Agent Solo for Agent Dancer."

"Dancer here. How's La-La Land, darling?"

"Could stand some improvement at the moment, April. I need you to - hold on."

Murdock had been waving to get Napoleon's attention.

"Sorry for the interruption, muchacho, but I forgot - Chiquita only knows me by Howlin' Mad."

"Ri-ight. April?"

"Still here and waiting."

"Do you know a Howlin' Mad?"

"Do I? Good heavens, yes. Don't you remember that pilot Mark and I were talking about when we were comparing odd mission experiences? Wait - why are you asking?"

"I am currently with a gentleman claiming to be him. And Illya's potentially missing."

"Oh dear - I'll collect Mark and join you. In the meantime, if you are looking at a man of around six foot two, rather lanky unless he's put on a great deal of weight lately and wearing a brown leather bomber jacket with a tiger on the back, odds are that you are indeed currently seeing Howlin' Mad."

Murdock's hearing was apparently excellent. He shifted himself and the chair he was in until the tiger on the back of his jacker was facing Napoleon.

"Thank you, April. And yes, if the two of you are between jobs, I would appreciate the backup."

"We'll be out in two shakes of a lamb's tail. See you soon - and give Howlin' my love."

Napoleon tucked his communicator back away.

"No offense, but you aren't someone I'd normally associate with the CIA."

"Admittedly I am not what you'd call standard issue. I'm not precisely one of them. I've just helped out a couple of times when they needed the best pilot for a job. So? You help me find Face and I help you find Illya?"

Stopping his rolling thoughts from coming out for a moment, Murdock slumped a little in his seat.

"I guess I should give you a warning before you say yes or no. I'm sort of on the certifiable side. As in the few bricks shy of a load variety. Some of my bricks got cracked over in 'Nam. Heck, there are those that would argue they were cracked before I even got to 'Nam."

"I think everyone in our line of work is a little cracked by definition. At least you're up front about it. Uhm - Face?"

"Nickname. His real name's a mouthful and hard to get out in a hurry."

"Is he an occasional CIA operative as well?"

"Oh heck no. None of the other guys are. We all served in 'Nam together."

"Korea myself. So? Who exactly is Face?"

"My best friend."

"Illya's mine."

Napoleon held his hand out.

"So - as you said before? Shall we go get our friends back? With Mark and April, that will make four of us."

"I've got two teammates to add as well. Six."

The two men grasped hands briefly, then Napoleon motioned the waiter over.

"We may as well eat while we compare notes."

"But -"

"If I know April, she and Mark will be here in the morning. What about your team?"

"They're supposed to be back tonight. But do we really have time to -"

He interrupted Murdock, but not unkindly.

"Murdock, what are the basic rules going into a mission?"

The pilot sighed, closed his eyes and spoke.

"Fuel up everything - vehicles and men. Check your gear. Don't go in without backup. Never leave a man behind."

"We do number one now. Two afterward. Three when our teammates come in followed closely by four. You won't do anyone the slightest good tomorrow if you run out of energy mid-mission."

A smile formed on the pilot's face again, nowhere near his usual one, but at least there.

"You know? You sounded a little like Hannibal there. At least we're in the right place. Nothing like carbs for fuel and nothing like pasta for carbs."

In truth, neither man felt much like eating, but both men ate. Not for themselves. For their best friends.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part VIII - Making Connections**

Hannibal climbed into the passenger seat of the van with a very self-satisfied look on his face. Sliding behind the wheel, B.A. looked more disgruntled than usual. Which was saying something. He hadn't earned the nickname of Bad Attitude for his sunny disposition.

As they started to head back to the hotel that Face had got them rooms at for the night, Hannibal ignored B.A.'s mood for about fifteen miles, but by then, his good mood had started to fade in the company of B.A. sour outlook.

"Alright, Sergeant. You've been surly and sulky all day. Look, if it's about Murdock –"

Uncharacteristically, B.A. cut Hannibal off.

"It's about Murdock, but not the way you're thinking, Hannibal. Fool was upset. We shouldn't have brought him out here on a day we couldn't have all stayed with him."

Hannibal tugged at the wrist of his left glove as he nodded.

"Yeah. I felt bad about that, but we didn't know he'd be worked up. But he's with Face –"

"That's the other thing I'm worried about."

"I think you're being paranoid now, B.A. Face and Murdock have been best friends for a couple of years. Face will watch out for Murdock."

"Oh really? You get hit in the head on our way here?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means that it sounds like you've forgot what happened when you left Face to keep an eye on Murdock at Phan Rang."

Hannibal sat back, thinking and a frown formed slowly.

"You know? I had forgotten that. Protective amnesia. You aren't thinking –"

"If I wasn't thinking it, I wouldn't be worried. So yeah, I think Murdock most likely by himself by now."

Looking out of the window, Hannibal had to concede that B.A. had a point. There was no shortage of women in L.A. and Face still felt like he was making up for lost time.

"We're already heading their way. Let's go find our Captain."

Meanwhile, Murdock was watching the blonde Russian displaying what he was pretty sure was an unusual amount of emotion in public. After the one curse, Illya had reined in any other emotion rather severely, but the man he'd been having a good-natured conversation with not five minutes before was now about as warm as a block of dry ice.

It was also pretty obvious that Illya's mind was fully somewhere else. When he seemed to suddenly recall that Murdock was there with him, Illya started speaking rapidly - almost rambling. That was another thing he didn't think was very likely normal for the Russian.

Most worrying to him was the deal with the money. Illya had looked at it as if it no longer had any value. Murdock had seen that once before, but he was pretty sure Illya wasn't the suicidal type. But it still seemed to imply the same thing. Wherever that letter was taking him, Illya didn't think he was going to be needing money.

His brain was nagging at him that he was missing a detail. There was something about the way the Russian moved that had reminded him of another place and time. Murdock got to his feet without even thinking about what he was doing and tried to hold down a flashback in public. _No. Hold on to the present. This isn't Croatia. That isn't Mark._

Reaching out a hand, Murdock's uneasiness grew stronger as he met those iced over blue eyes straight on. He didn't even know what all he was saying to the man, but Murdock ended it with one word in Russian.

"Udacha."

"Spasibo. I may need it."

The desire to follow was nearly overwhelming, but then he remembered that letter. Illya had left it behind. Intentional or just that his mind was elsewhere? Reaching over, Murdock picked it up, sat and began reading. It explained the look Illya had had. It also was pissing Murdock off. Loyalty meant a lot to him. Someone treating loyalty or love like a commodity to be used and abused to force another person to do things? Only thing lower in Murdock's books was messing with a kid.

His thoughts were so far down that dark road that he didn't notice anyone approaching the table until they were there. Jerking up both his head and thoughts, Murdock took a good look at the man in front of him, not really even registering the maitre d'. He allowed a smile to form as he made a mental guess as to who the well-dressed man was likely to be.

"Are you Napoleon? If so, man-o-man, do we need to talk."

The pilot could practically see his defenses going up. In almost any other situation, he'd have found that funny. He watched as the man sat down – not too close, not too far. It was a very calculated move that also was pinging on his memories.

"Yes, I'm Napoleon. Where's Illya?"

There were several ways Murdock could answer that. He decided to go the direct route.

"In a lot of trouble, would be my guess."

He offered Napoleon the letter. Once he got a good look at it, it looked to Murdock as if Napoleon had been sucker-punched. Brown eyes and hazel ones met and held.

"Where did this come from, Mister -?"

"Just Murdock, please. The maitre d' brought it over to the table. Listen, I came here with a friend myself. Good looking guy if he does say so himself. I'm starting to think that maybe they made a big mistake and kidnapped him. Because they obviously don't have you."

Still holding the letter in his right hand, Napoleon's left hand formed a loose fist that rose to his face, thumbnail pressed against chin in thought. One thing seemed obvious, but he asked anyway.

"You can read this."

"Yep."

Then Murdock's mouth went totally dry. He guess that the majority of people in the world would have seen what Napoleon did as a nervous gesture. And maybe to a degree, it was. But Murdock knew two other people that carried pens just like the one that Napoleon had just pulled out. And he knew where they worked.

"Holy cow patties - you're with U.N.C.L.E."

The second the words had left his mouth, Murdock knew he shouldn't have just blurted that out. Napoleon's wariness factor doubled – maybe tripled. Murdock's mind was whirling now. His chances of getting Faceman back just got considerably better. Better, that is, if he could just convince Napoleon that the two of them were on the same side. _Mark and April - come on. Remember. What were their last names? _A grin formed as his brain finally chose to co-operate for once.

"Mark Slate or April Dancer. Either one of them should be willing to vouch for me."

Even though his tea had gone cold, Murdock idly toyed with the cup as Napoleon made the call. Fortunately he remembered in time that April and Mark only knew him by the nickname he'd picked up. The CIA's odd sense of humor showed when they made Howlin' Mad into his codename with them.

Once who he was had been verified to Napoleon's satisfaction, they talked some, but Murdock couldn't have told anyone what they were talking about to save his soul. He didn't really snap back to what was going on in the present until Napoleon had a waiter come over. Eat? Murdock didn't know that he ever felt less like eating. Napoleon rather forced the point though. He had to eat. Face needed him at full, not half.

It was hard to say whether it made him feel better or worse that Napoleon was obviously just forcing down his food as well. The meal passed silently and Murdock really wished Hannibal was with him. It was harder to keep the crazy down when the only person with him was someone who was little more than a stranger. He then noticed Napoleon seemed to be having trouble swallowing.

"Illya never got a chance to eat, did he?"

"No. He did say something about folks not having respect for mealtimes."

A small smirk quirked into life briefly on Napoleon's face at that.

"Illya does love his food."

Apparently that statement killed any further desire or ability to eat. Pushing his plate away, Napoleon looked toward the door.

"Where are you supposed to meet your team?"

"I'm not 100% sure. Faceman was doing the driving and he never mentioned it. I'm guessing it would be back at our hotel though."

"Shall we go and see if we can find them?"

"I guess. This is going to take more than the usual amount of explaining. I hope B.A. doesn't yell too much."

"Excitable, is he?"

"Well, not really. I just seem to get on his nerves really bad."

"Perhaps we can direct his attention toward the one that took our friends."

As they left, Murdock went to Face's Vette, not remembering at first that he didn't have a key. A detail like that hardly even slowed Napoleon down. Once he hotwired the car, he drove while Murdock gave directions.

The van caught Murdock's eye and he wasn't sure if he should tense up or give a sigh of relief. His brain decided to settle for a nervous laugh. A hand settled on his shoulder and he turned his head to look at Napoleon. The man gave him a reassuring smile and succeeded in settling him down some.

"Come on, kid. Let's go introduce me to your teammates."


	9. Chapter 9

**Part IX – Change Your Partners **

Shennelle kept her gun trained on Kuryakin until the drug her man had injected into him took full effect. Then she tucked her weapon away into the compartment built into her car and proceeded to remove Kuryakin's jacket. Tossing it down to the floorboard, her next target for removal was his shoulder harness.

Much as she hated to agree with the teenage girl, she had to admit the blonde man had his good points. Shame he and his partner were going to be just so much dead meat in the very near future.

It took a bit of work to add the shoulder harness and the U.N.C.L.E. Special to the compartment. After a bit more searching, the two throwing blades were tucked in as well before she reshut the recessed area. A slight smirk formed. Very well armed for just a meal. She wondered just how much he would carry for an actual mission.

While she had been dealing with the weapons, her man had been securing the Russian's wrists behind him. No sense taking any chances on him possibly recovering from the drugs faster than expected. Shennelle lifted the grey pullover, holding it in place as she looked over her captive's torso. Quite a bit of scarring. Quite a bit more of it than his partner. The very close look she'd gotten at his partner was bothering her more and more now.

Thinking back to her examination on him, Solo had proved to look much younger than she'd originally thought. Doubtful that the man was even twenty-five. Kuryakin's age was hard to pinpoint, but she doubted he was under 30. Again, it had only been an assumption on her part, but she'd thought Solo – or Peck, as he kept calling himself - was the older of the pair. She was getting one of her feelings. Something was not right. It was a strain to keep from frowning, so she distracted herself by running her perfectly manicured nails along some of the more prominent scars as if memorizing them. Some of them struck her as attractive. She could see the appeal of having decorations made from human flesh and mused about how it might look in an appropriate frame.

She was broken from her musings when the car came to a stop.

"Wait here for five minutes, then bring Kuryakin in. I'll get everything ready."

She choose to walk into their facility slowly, pacing herself as if she was walking into a club. As hoped, her other captive was already awake and struggling. He stopped that when he noticed her, simply looking at her as if trying to decode her as Shennelle stopped in front of his chair.

"So nice to see that you're fully with us again, Mister Solo."

"Who? Listen, lady – I don't know who it is you think I am, but my name is Peck. Templeton Peck."

"We'll see. Perhaps one of you will feel more cooperative once your partner joins us."

She looked into his blue eyes a moment longer, then turned and walked to the wall directly across from him. She carefully examined the manacles – well-used, but still very serviceable. Smiling, she unlocked them to prepare them for Kuryakin, then turned as she heard the noise at the door. She really wanted to watch the reaction from the other man when Kuryakin was brought in.

"Illya?"

The shocked sound and use of Kuryakin's first name reassured Shennelle. But only for a few seconds. It was quickly buried, but she saw a flash of something on his face that she hadn't expected in the least. Relief. It made her tone snappish as she gave her men their instructions.

"Chain him, inject the stimulant, then leave us."

They had all worked for her long enough that neither argument or backtalk occurred to them. Once the limp form was hanging from the manacles, one of them stabbed it with a syringe and injected the contents before all of them exited the area.

Shennelle stood quietly until Kuryakin's body went into a brief series of spasms as the stimulant took effect. Once the cold blue eyes opened again, she walked over to confront the other set of blue eyes, getting within inches of them.

"That man is your partner. Care to explain why I saw a look of relief in your eyes when recognition sank in?"

The way he managed to keep his expression schooled made her again think she had the right man. Especially when he came out with a reasonable sounding explanation.

"He was so still, I thought for a minute that he was dead. The relief was when I could tell he was breathing."

She then noted his gaze had left her eyes and was aimed beyond her. He was meeting Kuryakin's eyes in an almost questioning manner. That bothered her all over again and she stomped straight over to Kuryakin. The Russian's face was infuriatingly bland.

"Is that or is that not your partner?"

Kuryakin locked eyes with the other man again before answering.

"He is."

"Then that **is** Napoleon Solo."

The frigid blue eyes looked into the green ones with a touch of amusement nestled amidst the contempt in them.

"Not even close. You people really need to update your files. Napoleon retired last year after his birthday."


	10. Chapter 10

**Part X – Memories**

Napoleon tried to remember the stories that April and Mark had told about Howlin' Mad. The way they claimed that the man could fly sounded like – pardon the pun – flights of fancy. April had said the man could make a helicopter do the cha-cha if he was so inclined. And would sing the song to go along with the dance in the process.

That image was hard to connect with the man sitting at the same table as him, methodically forcing pasta down his throat. He was worried about his friend. Napoleon knew exactly how he felt. Murdock was also talking a good bit, but Napoleon wasn't sure that even Murdock realized it. The topics were rather like buckshot, hitting random topics. He did end up smiling slightly as the remark about Illya preferring dumplings to flowers came up. That did sound like his partner's sense of humor. But then it also reminded him about the food in front of him and if Murdock hadn't eaten before this?

A quick question confirmed that Illya hadn't eaten yet either. With his partner's almost ridiculously fast metabolism, that could get to be a problem. He remarked back to Murdock, but he was on auto-pilot as he tried to remember when the last time they'd eaten was. The plate was pushed back – he simply couldn't force anything else down.

"Illya does love his food."

When he noticed Murdock seemed at the same point, Napoleon called for the check. Exiting, he wasn't too surprised that Murdock didn't know the area well. By the earlier ramblings, he knew that Murdock hadn't even been in the area for six hours. Well, welcome to Los Angeles. The Tourist Bureaus never warn about things like this.

The car that Murdock led the way to was a nice one. No keys, but Napoleon certainly wasn't inclined to let that slow things down. Besides, Murdock was worried about abandoning his friend's car in the restaurant's parking lot. Faceman - well, as nicknames went, Napoleon had certainly heard worse. He had long since noted that even some otherwise loving parents saddled their kids with nicknames that verged on abuse. He got the car started with no difficulty and was soon following Murdock's directions back to the hotel. For a man that had only been this route once and from the opposite direction, Murdock's navigation was perfect.

The nervous laugh when they reached their destination and parked concerned Napoleon a bit. Well, he supposed could understand that too. Murdock was about to report to some of his teammates that another one was missing as well as being in unknown circumstances and conditions. Reaching over, he laid his hand on Murdock's shoulder and gave him as reassuring of a smile as he could manage to remind him that he wasn't here alone.

"Come on, kid. Let's go introduce me to your teammates."

Quirking a slightly less nervous grin, Murdock gave a nod.

"You said you served in Korea, right? Well, at least that's something you have in common with Hannibal."

Taking a deep breath, Murdock made a beeline for one of the rooms and did a rhythmic knock. Apparently that was something the men on the inside were used to. The door opened without hesitation. As well as without using the peephole first, it seemed.

"Why can't you ever just knock like a norm-"

Belatedly, it occurred to Napoleon that he should have asked Murdock what his teammates looked like. The burly black man with the interesting haircut, feather earring and other jewelry wasn't anyone that he would have even vaguely imagined with Murdock. But his attention was caught more by the other man in the room that had gone on alert when the one opening the door stopped speaking. He was going for a gun.

That move apparently didn't escape Murdock either. Before the situation escalated any further, Murdock positioned his own body very deliberately in front of Napoleon.

"Easy there, muchachos. He may not exactly be on our side, but right now we're all sort of on the same side."

"That don't make a lick o' sense, you crazy Fool."

"It will once I explain, B.A. Colonel? Please, sir? Faceman's in danger and so's this man's friend."

"Are you sure of him, Captain?"

"Enough that I'll go with him whether you do or not, sir. Remember my 'out of country' runs?"

"That 'need to know only' stuff? I remember. What about them?"

"It's a pair of the folks that were on those missions with me that vouch for him, Colonel. And they had my back. I'd trust them to do that again any day of the week."

Napoleon found his focus on the tiger on the back of the leather jacket again. _Da Nang 1970._ One thing that April and Mark certainly hadn't lied about in their stories - whatever else he might or might not be, this Howlin' Mad character was no coward.

The pause lasted another two beats, then the man pulled a cigar from his pocket.

"Well, don't just stand in the doorway with him all night, Captain. Show him in."

Murdock stepped in and to the side to allow Napoleon in, then shut the door. Then Murdock shot Napoleon a quick mischievous looking grin.

"Guys? Remember me regaling you with the exploits of my spy days?"

The burly man that had opened the door groaned at that.

"Aw man - you ain't gonna start telling more of those crazy fool stories about your aunt, are you?

Napoleon got a glare from the man himself when he started to chuckle and spoke up.

"That would be U.N.C.L.E., not aunt."

"He's right, B.A. Know your acronyms, I always say."

"Listen, mister - don't encourage his crazy."

Holding up his hand, Napoleon looked over to the Colonel.

"Gentlemen? If I may be permitted to access my jacket pockets?"

"Please do."

It certainly wasn't something that he ever used much, but it was occasionally handy. The actual card was concealed inside of another card as casual use of it was frowned upon, but this wasn't a casual situation. After pulling it free, Napoleon offered the identification card over.

The man took it, looked at it and then looked at it again.

"I'll be damned - there really is an U.N.C.L.E.?"

"United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. We're a multi-national team."

"If I may? Hannibal? B.A.? This is Napoleon Solo. Napoleon? This is Hannibal and B.A. Oh? And Colonel, sir? The two that I mentioned earlier? They'll be joining us by morning."

"Captain? Cut to the chase. How did you get involved and what happened to Face?"

"Right - quick version. The restaurant Face wanted to go to was really crowded so we had to share a table and Illya -"

"Illya?"

"My partner. Illya Kuryakin."

"Sounds - Russian?"

"That would be due to him being a Russian, Colonel. He's a real nice guy though. Any way, he was the one we ended up sharing a table with. We were all having a nice chat waiting for Napoleon here to show up -"

"You were late?"

"No - B.A., isn't it? I was actually arriving a little early."

"**ANY** way - everything kind of went flooey when this really nice looking woman came walking up and started speaking to Face. And she -"

Murdock suddenly stopped speaking. Napoleon turned his head and noted the dazed look in the man's eyes. When Murdock spoke again, he didn't take up where he left off.

"Oh hell."

All three pairs of eyes were fixed on the pilot now.

"Colonel? I think I may have seen that woman before. In Croatia. Working for the other side."


	11. Chapter 11

**Part XI – Wrinkles and Hurricanes**

This was one of those times when Face was briefly tempted to take an oath of chastity. He was mentally berating himself. He was a conman, for pity's sake! He should know better than anyone to watch out for a pretty face pulling a scam.

His real worry was Murdock. Leaving him alone in a new town hadn't been in Face's plans at all. Thinking of Murdock got him agitated and he twisted again in the attempt to get a better look at the cuffs keeping him prisoner. He had to get back – hell, Murdock didn't even have the keys to the car and, so far as Face knew, didn't have any money on him either.

Scent more than sound told him that he wasn't alone anymore. Her scent. Kind of reminded him of those hot cinnamon candies he occasionally had a kid. Still in that green silk dress. She had a natural looking sway to her walk that he now suspected was very well rehearsed. Stopping in front of him, she insisted, yet again, that his name was Solo. Her eyes took on a slightly venomous look when he denied it.

"We'll see. Perhaps one of you will feel more cooperative once your partner joins us."

Smirking, she swayed her way over to the wall area right in front of where they had him facing. Face's stomach got a little queasy when he saw the shackles permanently attached there. This obviously was not her first time doing this sort of thing and he really felt like kicking himself for following her. The thought that she might be about to chain up Murdock made him start trying to slip his cuffs again. After the camps, none of them could stand being restrained, but it was the worst on Murdock. Damn it – he was not going to just sit there and let them mess with his best friend if he could help it.

The door opened and his heart went into his throat as the men started carrying in a limp, lifeless looking body. Then they came close enough for him to get a better look. Recognition hit then and he spoke without thinking first.

"Illya?"

Swallowing, relief flooded over him. Not that he had anything against Illya, but he was just thankful that it wasn't Murdock. Then he felt those green eyes on him. Damn. She looked mad enough to chew nails as she turned away from him and had the men shackle Illya to the wall. He had to look away as the man's body started to jerk against the chains. That had to hurt.

He looked back just in time for her to stalk back over to him, getting down into his face almost close enough to bite his nose. Which he was not about to put past her at this point. Her question about the relief she'd seen in his eyes was the one that he'd been afraid of. His internal mantra was not to mention Murdock -fortunately his skills at coming up with a plausible lie quickly didn't fail him.

He looked past her then and into Illya's eyes. Illya didn't seem as surprised to see Face and when their eyes connected, he saw the force of will behind those eyes. Illya seemed to be trying to communicate something with him. Face just wished he knew the man well enough to know what.

Then the woman came up with a name that Face had heard. Napoleon. The man Illya had been waiting for.

"Not even close. You people really need to update your files. Napoleon retired last year after his birthday."

Those words told Face what he needed to know. Illya was trying to protect his friend just as Face was trying to protect Murdock. Fine – he knew the scam now and tried to fall into the role of Illya's partner. He just really wished he had a better idea of what exactly they were partners at.

When he saw the woman go to a table and pick up a wicked looking knife, he went cold. But it was Illya's grey pullover that she was attacking rather than the man himself. The material was soon in shreds on the ground. Face swallowed again. What the hell did Illya do for a living to end up with so much scarring?

"Now then – which of you wants to start telling me about the reason U.N.C.L.E. was meeting with the CIA?"

Face looked to Illya again. Wait a minute – he'd heard that before. That story Murdock told now and then was about agents working for U.N.C.L.E. But that had all been just a story Murdock made up – hadn't it? Another look at Illya's scarred torso made Face begin to reconsider that. Then he heard the question in Illya's voice.

"CIA?"

The woman practically hissed as she used the knife again to slice a four inch line shallowly into Illya's chest.

"I am growing tired of these games. You do not think I know a CIA man when I see one? I have seen Howlin' Mad in action before so don't lie."

Face paled a little at that. Okay – so maybe he didn't know his best friend quite as well as he thought he did. He felt Illya's eye on him again, questioning. The woman was looking toward Illya so Face took the chance and mouthed 'Murdock'. Illya's slightly raised brow was all that told him that the message had gotten through.

"I was merely making sure I heard the right agency's name. I deal with so many. As to the reason for the meeting? That is none of your business."

The woman looked as if she was ready to scowl, but then changed her mind as well as her questioning.

"Solo. Where is he?"

"Far from here, I am sure. Where exactly? Who knows? Napoleon spoke of several places he would like to spend his retirement years. The Plage de Tahiti in Saint Tropez came up, as I recall. However Napoleon and I have not exchanged so much as a postcard since his retirement."

Face watched breathlessly as Illya took a long studying look at the woman in front of him.

"You know, you should really get some sleep. Staying up late cause forehead wrinkles. You should have seen the number that Napoleon collected from –"

The blonde man had a death wish apparently. At least the woman only slapped him instead of stabbing.

"We'll see if a night in the comfort of your surroundings makes you more cooperative."

"Good night. Oh, you might try using cooled teabags on your eyes. Helps with the puffiness."

The door slammed with a force that made Face wonder that it hadn't cracked. If the woman had had a gun, he wouldn't have been shocked if she'd used it on Illya.

"You're crazier than Murdock."

"Howlin' Mad? That is his nickname?"

"More like – his reputation. Nobody really called him that around the base."

Face glanced back to where the woman had disappeared through the door and took a chance.

"So, partner? Exactly what sort of partners are we?"

"Not to go into details, consider the job to be one of troubleshooting."

"Troubleshooting?"

"Da. Someone causes trouble – we shoot them."

"Please tell me that was a joke?"

Face couldn't quite make out Illya's expression. He also noted his question wasn't answered.

"Try to get some rest, Mister Peck."

"Hey – since we're partners now, call me Face. And do you really think either of us will get much rest like this?"

"I have spent nights in less comfortable conditions than these and I suspect you have as well. Try."

At the hotel, Hannibal had been mostly silent – he still hadn't handed the card back to Solo and kept glancing back at it. He'd seen enough fakes done by Face to decide this one seemed genuine enough. At any rate, it hadn't just been made in the last day or two.

The main reason for Hannibal's quiet was that he was trying to cast his mind back when Murdock had gotten orders pulling him away from the team. Murdock was prone to tell what sounded like some pretty tall tales though, so he hadn't paid strict attention to the stories the pilot had told when he came back. Hannibal did recall that Murdock came back to them wounded – nothing major and nothing that stopped him from flying. Well, nothing that he let stop him from flying. He'd also told about a beautiful girl that was along with him that he called April Showers. Hannibal had assumed that she was another of Murdock's inventions made to poke fun at Face. Now? Now he wasn't so sure and he was having to rethink it all.

Murdock generally didn't curse, so when he did, it snapped Hannibal out of his thoughts. Then he mentioned that mission and Hannibal remembered the other beautiful woman in the story.

"Please tell me it's not the woman you called Hurricane Hannah?"

The expression on Murdock's face told Hannibal that was exactly who he thought the woman was and he groaned. What he could remember about her was all bad.

"Sorry, sir. I wish I could have placed her sooner. Maybe then –"

The U.N.C.L.E. agent spoke up then.

"Actually? If you've recognized her, there's a very good chance she recognized you as well. If she'd gotten wind at the time that you remembered her, there no telling what might have happened, but I'd have to say the odds would have been for it being violent. You not remembering sooner probably saved a few innocent lives."

Napoleon could tell from his expression that Murdock wanted to believe that.

"So – you don't think I could have stopped her from taking Face and Illya?"

"No, I don't. That letter wasn't just jotted off. She came there to take Illya and myself. Do you really think she'd have left without us peacefully?"

"No. No, I don't. I remember what she was trying to pull in Croatia. When things started going against them, she was about to kill the hostages. Collateral damage doesn't worry Hurricane Hannah."

B.A.'s curiosity must have overwhelmed him because Napoleon heard him speak up.

"Gonna regret asking this, but why'd you call her Hurricane Hannah? Hannah her name?"

A fond smile formed on Murdock's face as he thought back.

"Never found out her real name, big guy. I named her that in honor of how Junebug got her to leave the hostages alone."

"Junebug?"

"She was my chopper on that mission. Oh man-o-man, was she a sweet lady. Any way – I heard Higgins yell and saw what he was trying to tell us. Me an' Junebug spotted a nice pile of trash not far away and Junebug was really cooperative about getting at the right angle for our air to whip that trash around. Hannah was getting nailed with everything from dirt to old beer cans and table scraps. Betcha it must've taken her a solid week to get all the trash and tangles out of her hair."

Hannibal chuckled at that as he glanced at the clock and finally passed the card back to Solo.

"Doesn't sound like it could have happened to a more deserving woman, but if we're going to be moving out in the morning, we'd better get some rest."

"Hannibal? If it's alright with you and Murdock, I'd like him to come with me tonight. He can use Illya's bed."

Hannibal cast a glance over to Murdock before agreeing, but B.A. apparently was less than thrilled with the arrangement and went over to Murdock, laying his hands on the pilot's shoulders.

"You got the number – you use it if you need to. Be careful out there, Fool."

"I will be, big guy. We'll get Faceman back. I'm not going to refind you guys just to lose you again."


	12. Chapter 12

**Part XII – Hell Hath No Fury**

As she left the men alone in their prison for the time being, Shennelle was having an absolutely dreadful time preventing herself from scowling. How dare he – that insufferable Russian! Not only implying that she had wrinkles but bags under her eyes as well!

This was one occasion when she wished that the money wasn't so good. She'd have gladly buried the knife up to the hilt in his guts. Schooling her emotions to keep her facial expressions neutral, she began to make her plans as she headed to her rooms. In the morning, she would give her T.H.R.U.S.H. employer a call. There had to be a way to negotiate for Kuryakin and his new partner. Especially if the man still wanted to get his hands on Solo.

Well, if they wanted Solo, this time they were going to need to come up with a photograph of the man instead of just descriptions. The Russian should be good bait. Even if Solo was enjoying a life of ease now, she knew these U.N.C.L.E. types. A few months away from a man he had been partnered with the better part of a decade would not have affected their connection much.

Pleased with that thought, Shennelle entered her room and moved straight to one of her mirrors. Puffy eyes indeed - Russian bastard. Still? Well, surely a cool compress couldn't hurt. This had been a terribly stressful day for her, after all.

On waking the next morning, she examined her eyes very closer and felt a touch less murderous toward Kuryakin. Though he was going to pay for those remarks. She put the call through to T.H.R.U.S.H. while having her breakfast. As expected, the man was unpleasant about finding out that Solo had slipped his net, but quite enthusiastic about Kuryakin's capture. The new partner was a bit of a loose end and the renegotiations began with him. In the end, it was agreed that Shennelle would still get her full fee, but that a quarter of it would be considered an advance on Solo. Peck would be kept alive until they could determine if they could possibly make use of the new partner to draw out the old one.

By the time everything was settled, she decided to work in a facial before going to look in on her prisoners. They'd been in their spots for over twelve hours and were bound to need cleaning. The pair should also be quite thirsty and probably hungry as well. A smile began to form at that thought. She knew exactly what she wanted to do.

She smiled as both men turned their heads to look her direction as she walked in accompanied by three of her people. Moving over to Kuryakin, she gestured the others over toward Peck.

"Take care of that one first. Don't try to get frisky, Mister Peck. I understand it looks bad in the files when a junior agent is directly responsible for the death of a more experienced one."

She gave Peck a chilling smile as she picked up the knife again, lightly running the cold blade down Kuryakin's side. The Russian had several long, shallow cuts on his torso oozing blood by the time Peck was forced back to the chair.

Still slightly damp and now dressed only in a pair of shorts, Peck looked highly uncomfortable when they started to spoon-feed him scrambled eggs like a toddler. He was given a few sips of juice and some water before Shennelle told them that was enough for Peck for now.

The trio nodded and started over toward Kuryakin, but Shennelle held up a hand.

"I think that Mister Kuryakin is fine just as he is."

The way Peck expression was fluctuating between shocked and angry amused her as she tossed the knife back down on the table. But when she turned back to view him, Kuryakin maintained his bland and slightly bored expression. Her anger flared again.

"Rest up. We might have time for a few games later, Kuryakin."

His voice was a bit rough now, but he answered her.

"No need to go to trouble on my account."

Stalking off. she reminded herself once more not to scowl and smiled instead as she turned at the door.

"No trouble at all. Believe me that this will be my pleasure."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part XIII - April Showers & Junebugs**

"Colonel? I think I may have seen that woman before. In Croatia. Working for the other side."

Napoleon was actually still getting past hearing Illya being described as 'a really nice guy'. Not that Illya wasn't, but generally the only people that held that opinion of him were the ones that had been around long enough to get past the ice wall that tended to surround the Russian. The comment about the woman though? That meant that Mark and April had dealt with her and if this was the same woman they'd spoken of? Not good news.

It seemed odd to have to console someone he'd just met over not having recognized the woman sooner, but it was the truth. Then he ended up chuckling – the story of what the pilot had done with blowing trash onto the woman matched the stories he'd heard from Mark and April. Their rendition included more descriptions of the food waste that she had ended up being pelted with. April's favorite to relate was a fish head that ended up as a hair barrette.

Wanting to keep Murdock close, Napoleon put in the request for Murdock to come with him. Hannibal and B.A. obviously weren't too thrilled, but didn't argue it either. As B.A. went to have a word with Murdock after he grabbed up a small bag, Napoleon found Hannibal speaking softly to him.

"One warning for you – Murdock gets nightmares occasionally. Being in a strange room might trigger one. Be careful waking him, but wake him. Don't let it go on. Now, one warning to you. I'm trusting my man to your care. Don't take that lightly."

He knew a veiled threat when he heard one. He also knew when one was sincere and not a bluff.

"I won't, Colonel."

On the drive back to his hotel, Napoleon found out that awkward silences did not exist when you were in a car with Murdock. This was because there was no such thing as silence. He hadn't really paid a lot of attention to that on the way to meet Hannibal and B.A. because Murdock had been doing the navigating. Now though? Very obvious that the man was on the hyperactive side. To put it politely.

Napoleon found that he could at least steer the direction of the chatter. He accidently hit one topic that he almost wished he hadn't. He'd wished he'd known that the man had spent time as a POW. Well, it did a lot to explain the warning about nightmares. Especially after listening to Murdock's soft voice in the passenger seat speaking of events as if he were watching them as they were unfolding. Napoleon didn't interrupt – just let the words flow out of the man as they would. And flow they did. He wondered if the man had ever just talked about it like this before. He suspected not.

Going into the room with someone who wasn't Illya was a strange feeling for Napoleon as well. Murdock prowled the room, stopping at a small brown paper parcel – Napoleon froze. That hadn't been in the room earlier.

"You might want to move away from that, Murdock. It might not be safe."

"Really? It's from a book store. Those are generally pretty mellow spots."

With everything that was happening, Napoleon had forgotten about Illya's mention of hitting a few shops. He must have made a purchase and had it sent back to their room. Still, didn't hurt to be careful so he checked it over carefully before opening it. A thick Russian novel. Well, at least it was something other than a scientific journal for once. Regardless, he was going to have a talk to the hotel about just sticking things into his room without telling him about it.

"You were right – pretty mellow. We'd better get some sleep. April and Mark will be here pretty early."

Murdock looked at the book, then headed over to the bed Napoleon had indicated, speaking without really thinking about what he was saying.

"Spokoinoi nochi i sladkikh snov."

Hearing Russian coming over from that bed felt both right and wrong, but Napoleon pushed everything to the back burner. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

"Good night and sweet dreams as well, Murdock."

Morning came almost as soon as he'd shut his eyes. Or at least that was what it felt like to Napoleon. Murdock sang or hummed the entire way to the airport.

_I really need to remind myself of this the next time I get irritated when Illya is being too quiet. Given the choice, I think I'd go with the quiet. _

Napoleon was just grateful that the plane was on schedule, but as the passengers began to disembark, he moved back out of the way. In truth, he didn't think he'd want to get caught in the middle of Murdock meeting April and Mark. His instincts were right on the money.

Murdock's face lit up the second he spotted April. He just opened up his arms and called out to her.

"April Showers!"

"Howler Monkey! Oh, it's good to see you again!"

April went straight to him without the slightest hesitation and he wrapped her up into a hug, literally lifting her off of the ground and spinning with her as if she were a small child. What really caught Napoleon's attention was that April responded to that by laughing like a child herself – as natural and addictive a sound of pure joy as he had ever heard come from April. He had to stop himself from laughing when an older woman among the disembarking passengers remarked to her companion how sweet the brother/sister reunion was.

Mark wasn't far behind – he was apparently stuck with carting the carry-on luggage for both of them. But he was grinning rather broadly himself.

"Going to put her down any time today, H.M.?"

"Naw. I think I'll just hang onto her for awhile, Higgins. You're looking good."

April giggled as Murdock shifted to continue to support her with one arm while he freed the other to use for greeting Mark. Napoleon made another note – the lanky man was stronger than he looked. Not that April was a heavy load, of course.

After the initial rush of greeting seemed over, Napoleon came forward and gave April a kiss on her cheek, then asked with a bemused tone.

"Howler Monkey?"

"Hey, hey, hey – only Chiquita here gets by with that one."

"Just clarifying, Murdock."

"Yes, I said Howler Monkey. You, Napoleon dear, have obviously not flown with our genius here."

At the use of the word genius, Napoleon shifted his gaze over to Mark, who read and answered the unspoken question.

"I've no doubts – possibly even in Illya's league. He is to aircraft what Illya is to explosives."

"Speaking of which, let me down, Murdock. We have a surprise for you."

"Hey, I'm all for surprises. Didn't happen to find that Johnny Quest secret decoder ring I lost outside of Zagreb, did you?"

"Afraid not, darling. Different surprise."

Taking his hand in hers, April started to lead him. Napoleon took one of the bags from Mark and began to follow in their wake. Casting a glance over to Mark, Napoleon looked amused.

"Higgins?"

Mark just flushed a little.

"Don't ask."

The end destination proved to be a helicopter pad – with a blue and white Bell 240B on it. Murdock's expression on seeing it was similar to one Napoleon knew well. Mark just chuckled.

"Looks at that helicopter like Illya looks at a fully loaded plate of food, doesn't he?"

April moved over to give the side of the helicopter a pat.

"Doesn't she remind you of Junebug, love?"

"Well, no camo paint on her, Chiquita, but other than that? Sure does."

"Mark? Those stories you've told about this guy? Did you exaggerate some of the stunts he pulled off?"

"Are you joking? We downplayed most of them or no-one would have believed a bit of it. I'm serious. Folks are sometimes born to certain things. That gent there was born to fly."

April tossed a set of keys into the air that Murdock caught deftly.

"She's all yours for the coming week, Howler. I figured you might be going through a bit of sky withdrawal since coming back stateside and called in a favor. Mark? Why don't you and Napoleon head back in whatever they came in? I'll ride with Howler here."

The suggestion to take to the air didn't have to be made twice. Murdock was in the pilot's chair and running over the controls almost as soon as April stopped speaking. As his hands moved along the different switches and gauges with a light and sure touch that a flesh and blood woman would likely have appreciated, a blissful expresssion formed. Once April was in the co-pilot's chair, Murdock started the rotors going. Napoleon stood there and watched, chuckling as he heard the whooping yell that came out when it lifted free of the ground.

He decided he didn't need to be worried as April waved and then blew them a kiss just before the helicopter headed off.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part XIV - Promises**

B.A. was still staring at the closed door as they heard the car restart and leave.

"Sergeant - you need to hit the rack."

"Hannibal? What if that Solo guy is takin' advantage of how Murdock is? Fool's as trusting as a kid. Naive as one too."

Much as B.A. could and did complain about Murdock, he tended to worry about the pilot. Him picking on Murdock was one thing. Other folks picking on him was quite another.

"I know, B.A. I know. But we need to find Face. That guy might be our only lead. And let's face it, if he's done all this to play with Murdock's mind, he's gone to some pretty big lengths for it."

"Just all sounds crazy, Hannibal. Murdock's got enough problems without other folks addin' to them."

"That's the real question, isn't it, B.A."

"Huh? You lost me, Colonel. What real question?"

"I knew Murdock was occasionally getting orders from way up the chain. Pilots with his skills don't grow on trees."

"Just swing from 'em occasionally."

"Let's not begrudge the man his tire swing, B.A. But I have to admit all this gets me to wondering-"

The next part he didn't say out loud. He had wondered why they had suddenly decided that Murdock was crazy. Wasn't like the pilot hadn't always been different. Could it be that someone didn't want to lose the resource of one of the best pilots out there? Was it a way to make sure that Murdock didn't have to face the firing squad?

Murdock's 'crazy' did seem to come and go at times, but it sure never affected his ability to pilot a plane or helicopter. Murdock's worst day at the helm were better than most stick jockeys' best day. What if someone did something to make Murdock seem crazier than he actually was? Hannibal had heard of things like hypnotic suggestions. Sighing, he shook his head. Why would anyone do that to Murdock? If he started in with conspiracy theories, he was going to go crazy himself.

"Wondering what, Hannibal?"

"Nothing, B.A. - nothing at all. Hit the rack. I've got a feeling tomorrow's going to be a long day."

In the car with Napoleon, Murdock rambled a bit until the U.N.C.L.E. agent started asking questions. One of the ones about Vietnam took him down a road he didn't normally care to remember, but once he started, he didn't see a reason to stop. Actually, despite the pain, it felt good to actually let some of it out. He and the guys rarely mentioned their times in the war among themselves and when they did, they generally stuck to the occasional bright spots. POW camps never rated as bright spots.

Talking about those days with the doctors? He'd just be giving them ammunition. Civilians? No. Just no. Still way too many of them that wanted to blame him and the others for the policies invented by politicians. He tried to explain to one of the protestors once that yelling at him for the U.S. being in Vietnam at all was like yelling at the girl in a McDonald's takeout window for the fact that the place sold hamburgers. Folks were directing their rants to the wrong end of the chain of command.

This felt different though. Napoleon had been a soldier in an overseas war as well. He was safe to talk to. He understood the difference between being at home and being in the middle of a damn war zone. Where the zipping noises weren't bugs flying by your ear - they were bullets. Where the thunder came from bombs and not storms.

He barely even remembered reaching the hotel or laying down on the bed, but when he woke up the next morning, Murdock felt like a miracle had occurred. No nightmares. No dreams. Just sleep. Murdock couldn't even remember the last time that had happened, but it felt wonderful. He bounced out of bed and dove into the shower while Napoleon made a room service call.

Murdock didn't take a lot of time in the shower. He was out, dried and dressed before room service arrived. As Napoleon took his turn at the shower, Murdock pulled on his sneakers as he hummed a Doors tune. Which was fitting since his t-shirt of the day featured Jim Morrison.

The food arrived just as Napoleon finished up. Excitement at seeing old friends again made it possible for Murdock to eat. He was still worried about Face, of course, but figured that once they were all together, rescuing Illya and Face would be a done deal.

Singing April Showers and other movie tunes seemed a great way to pass the time it took to get to the airport. And then? There she was. His almost twin. He and April had compared notes - they were within two months of each other in age - close enough for almost twin status in his book. Higgins was closer to Hannibal in age. Murdock sincerely doubted that they were almost twins though. Mark wasn't into cigars.

And then? Then he wished he had arms long enough to give that helicopter the hug that he wanted to. Once he was off the ground in Junebug II, he flew her around a little to get a better feel of his newest girl. There wasn't any rush. Traffic would slow down Napoleon's drive and he didn't want to get to Hannibal and B.A. too far ahead of Napoleon. Not with the way B.A. freaked when it came to flying.

April had on her helmet and mike, using it to be heard over the rotors and engine noises.

"Is it good, Howler?"

"Oh, it is better than good, April Showers. So much better than good."

That sentiment was very different to the one that Face was feeling.

As a general rule, Face just didn't do the whole guilt thing. At least, he tried not to. But even though he was currently being held prisoner in a far from comfortable chair, he had it a lot better than the man across from him.

Face had been drug off, stripped, allowed to take care of body wastes, cleaned, stuffed into a clean pair of shorts, fed and given both juice and water. Plus, he was sitting. Illya was in a very different situation even though they were in the same room.

Illya was hanging from manacles and he had no choice but to remain standing unless he wanted to put strain onto his arms and shoulders. Half of his clothes had been cut off and they hadn't allowed him the dignity of going to a bathroom. Hell, they hadn't allowed him the dignity of a bucket. They hadn't given him any food or water either. The only thing that the woman had given him were long, shallow cuts that had oozed blood, now dry and crusty on his skin.

"Do not do that."

The unexpected voice snapped Face out of his thoughts. He'd thought the quiet man was unconscious.

"Don't do what?"

"Feel responsible for the actions of others. And also, you need to keep taking whatever food and drink is offered to you."

"I know I can't do anything about those guys yet, but I don't want to be eating in front of you. That makes it feel like I'm helping them torture you."

"Peck? Face. Listen to me. The time may come when they let down their guard. When that time comes, if you are too weak to take advantage of it, what good is it to either of us? So eat. Drink. Take any advantage that they give you and stay strong. For both of us."

In the back of his mind, Face wondered if the guys would even ever believe this. Face, the ultimate example of a guy out for himself - having to be talked into taking care of himself by someone else. Not that Face ever had been in it just for himself. He'd made sure to take care of the other guys, sure - but he'd made sure he was never lacking.

He felt the blue eyes watching him and knew that Illya was waiting for an answer. He looked into the Russian's face and said the two words he knew the man wanted to hear.

"I promise."


	15. Chapter 15

**Part XV - Divide and Conquer**

As she massaged the Creme de la Mer into her face, she glanced at the small container. 2 ounces and she'd paid over a hundred dollars an ounce. It wasn't quite on the market yet, but Shennelle knew people who knew people - and some of those people knew the price she would pay for beauty. Thirty-five year old skin took far more pampering than it had when she was in her twenties. She occasionally wished she could go back in time and slap her younger self to convince her to take better care of her natural gifts.

Still, with the right makeup and the right lighting accentuated by the right clothing, she judged she could still pass for twenty-five. For some reason that made her think of Kuryakin again and she had to prevent a scowl once more as she applied a dab more of the moisturizer. How old was he really? He had to be older than he looked. He'd been partners with Solo for years.

Suddenly, Shennelle found herself furious with the man. How dare he look younger than he was - the man likely hadn't used anything more elaborate than soap and water. Well, she would just see how youthful he looked when she was through with him.

As she walked back into the area that made up their prison with her two men, Kuryakin didn't even bother to look up at her. She just breezed by him, trying not to wrinkle her nose. Not allowing him any hygiene care at all was being to tell.

She moved over to Peck and let her fingers play over his face. Still smooth from being allowed to shave earlier. Since the pair hadn't been partners long, dividing them should be child's play. And she was just the wedge to drive between them.

"I thought you and I would have a bit of lunch together. What do you think about that?"

The blue eyes looking up at her were both wary and hopeful. She found she liked that combination. To her, it said he both feared and desired her.

"Sure. I'd like that."

"No concern for your partner over there? He's bound to be very hungry by now."

"If I was able to share with him, I probably would. But since that's up to you, there's no sense in both of us having an empty stomach, is there?"

The Russian muttered something unintelligible under his breath that sounded rude. She smiled at that. So he was paying attention. Shennelle toyed with Peck's hair.

"No, no reason at all for you to suffer on his account. I like your attitude - especially compared to others present. You used the word 'probably'. Not terribly attached to your partner yet?"

"Oh please. You've seen him in action already. Who could get attached to Mister Personality over there? You should try having to be around him every day. Half the time he doesn't even have the courtesy to use English."

"Isportili brat."

"Russian jerk. I have no idea how your last partner stood being around you so long."

It was absolutely delightful to hear the amount of venom practically dripping from the exchanges between the two men. She chuckled as she ran a hand down Peck's bare chest.

"Rumor has it that they were more than just partners in the field. They were said to have been partners between the sheets as well."

A side glance told her that Kuryakin had now bothered to raise his head enough to glare at them both. Perhaps the rumors were more than rumors? That might might drawing Solo into a trap that much easier.

Peck made a snorting sound and shook his head.

"That would explain a lot."

"He's not an admirer of women. Are you, Mister Peck?"

"Very much so."

"Chyort - the woman is practically old enough to be your mother, Peck. Contain yourself."

"Are you blind? She can't be any older than I am."

"The vain leading the blind. By the nose."

That was the last straw for Shennelle. She motioned for one of her men to join her as she stalked over to where Kuryakin was, bending over to pick up one of scraps of the grey pullover. Nodding to her man, she watched as he forced Kuryakin's jaw open so she could stuff the wad of cloth in to silence him. Then she took hold of Kuryakin's jaw herself and took a long look into the pale blue eyes. They were duller. She would have to give him at least some water soon to keep him at least minimally hydrated.

Then she let go of him and pointed to the blade on the table.

"Remove the rest of the clothing then hose him down. He reeks. Once you've finished, redo his manacles so that he faces the wall."

Orders given, she moved back to Peck, lips pursing slightly at the look she saw him give Kuryakin.

"Why the long face? You don't even like him, do you?"

"No. Not really. But what you said earlier is true. Looks bad in the files when your partner gets killed."

"I believe I can take care of that detail for you."

Taking firm hold of Peck's face, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his even as the muffled sounds of pain forced from Kuryakin reached her ears. She felt Peck tense for a moment, then he began to return the kiss. Even with the disadvantage of being bound, the man proved to be a good kisser.

Shennelle smiled to herself. She'd soon have Peck willingly doing whatever she wanted him to. She still had it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Part XVI - Mergers**

Napoleon watched the helicopter for another moment, then clapped Mark on the shoulder.

"They're taking the short cut, so we'd better get headed out ourselves, Mark."

"Right."

Mark just reshifted his hold on April's carryons and followed Napoleon.

"April seems rather taken with Murdock."

Recognizing a leading statement when he heard one, Mark just chuckled.

"Murdock? Is that actually his name? Less of a mouthful than Howlin' Mad, at least. But yes, he and April hit it off famously. Much to the dismay of those trying to control the missions. We've worked with him twice. First time was when he captured her heart, so to speak. And no, not in that way. Very much a sibling sort of feeling between them, much like April and I have. Nice car."

"Belongs to Murdock's friend. Climb in. So - how did Murdock win over our girl? Bound to be a story there."

"Oh there is. I hadn't even met H.M. yet, but he was called in to extract April from a situation that rather imploded on us in Cambodia, of all places. The CIA was calling the shots on that mission and had decided that leaving me behind was an acceptable loss that they were willing to pay. They didn't clear that with April. They also apparently didn't know H.M. well enough to figure out that he wouldn't go along with leaving someone behind if he knew about it."

"Off the record here, the second April told him that she didn't want to leave without me, his radio sudden went 'out of commision'. He ignored the orders to get the hell out and - details would take awhile, but suffice to say, he and April pulled my arse out of the fire. When the Croatia mission came up and we were going to need a pilot for that, April immediately asked for him again. Trust was already there and all, so we pushed, Waverly shoved and the three of us pulled off a successful hostage rescue."

"Why off the record?"

"Because I sabotaged the helicopter's radio after the fact so that H.M. wouldn't get in trouble for what he did for me. I'll admit he's got his share of quirks - and likely those of a few other people besides - but I'd rather have him on my side than not, Napoleon. You can't train that sort of fiber into a man."

"Wait until you meet the two waiting for us at the hotel, Mark. They're a bit a breed apart themselves."

"I rather thought they would be after hearing H.M. talk about them. But be fair - are the four of them any more unlikely a grouping than the four of us?"

"Hm. I suppose you do have a bit of a point there. And here we - odd. I would have thought the helicopter would have beaten us here."

"Oh, I'm sure it would have if speed had been a factor. Speaking of? I believe that's them there."

As Napoeon fixed his gaze on the approaching helicopter, Mark glanced over as two men came out of the hotel and moved over toward them before Napoleon noticed.

"Gentlemen. You would have to be B.A. and you must be Hannibal. H.M. spoke so highly of both of you that I've always wanted to meet you. I'm Mark Slate. Or as he tends to refer to me, Higgins."

He offered out his hand and it was Hannibal that took it with one eye on the landing helicopter.

"We heard about you as well, but I quite frankly didn't believe you were real. What about the beautiful agent that was supposed to be your partner?"

Gesturing to the helicopter, Mark just smiled.

"I'll let you judge that for yourself."

Inside the helicopter, April had to admit she never really felt the same in any sort of plane or helicopter as she did when Howler was at the controls. It was rather nice to be able to watch him in action without people trying to shoot them down.

It wasn't as if April hadn't flown with any number of pilot. Their missions were global and she'd been an U.N.C.L.E. agent for over five years now. She couldn't even say exactly what it was that was so different about Howler being in the pilot's seat other than he seemed to belong there. It might be an exaggeration, but to her, seeing Howler anywhere outside of a cockpit was like seeing a lion in a zoo. They were out of the place where nature intended them to be.

She watched as he tested out Junebug II - which was slowly morphing into Juneytwo as he maneuvered. It really didn't take him long to get a good feel of how fast she could climb, descend and turn. She could almost feel the reluctance as he finally headed them toward their destination. Poor Howler. How did he stand all those weeks that he'd been grounded?

Once they touched down, he was out of the seat and over to her side to help her out even as the rotors were still slowing to a stop overhead. Walking over to the others hand-in-hand, she recognized his teammates from his descriptions of them. Though he'd never mentioned the detail about them tending to stare open-mouthed. Howler apparently noticed her amusement at their reactions and explained things.

"They thought I had to be making up a pretty Chiquita like you, April Showers."

April's light laughter rang out as she kept holding onto Howler firmly with her left hand as she offered her right hand out.

"You could only be Hannibal. You've no idea how long I've wanted to make your acquaintance. And B.A. too - I feel almost like we've already met as much as Howler talked about you. I'm April Dancer."

Hannibal took her hand briefly, then she offered it over to B.A., who seemed a bit stunned.

"Well, Colonel? Did I lie about my girl here?"

"No. She's everything you said, Captain. And more. Good to meet you, Miss Dancer."

B.A. just muttered something that sounded like a greeting when he took the offered hand and seemed to blush a bit as April got another case of the giggles. Hannibal tried to spare the Sergeant further embarassment by changing the subject.

"Well, gentlemen, now that we're all here together, what's the plan for getting Illya and Face back?"

Napoleon spoke up then.

"I'm hoping Illya's communicator is still intact. I suggest two teams of three if that's acceptable to you, Colonel. Murdock, April and myself in the helicopter - Mark with Hannibal and B.A. in the van. That way there will be a communicator with both groups so we can keep in contact."

Hannibal and B.A. exchanged an obviously uncomfortable look that didn't escape any of the three U.N.C.L.E. agents. Napoleon cleared his throat.

"Let's get rid of the elephant in the middle if the room, shall we? I did a little checking while Murdock was sleeping. I know the two of you and Peck escaped from Fort Bragg and I know Murdock was declared insane and is a resident of the mental ward at the VA."

"Howler?"

Napoleon watched as Murdock looked straight over to Hannibal who gave him a nod. Then Murdock turned back to April.

"That's true, Chiquita. All of it. Doesn't mean the reasons behind it are right though. We were sent out on a BlackOps mission. We went in and did what we were supposed to do. But while we were out following orders, the man that gave out those orders got killed when the Viet Cong attacked - and the building he was in burned to the ground. No-one else would admit to knowing our orders, so we all got thrown to the lions. The guys were going to be tried for war crimes and possibly have to face a firing squad. I got shipped off to a mental institution."

Hannibal spoke up next.

"So where does that leave us, Mister Solo?"

"That leaves us here, Hannibal. Trust isn't something that's given in our business. It's earned. Mark and April? The only agent I trust more is Illya. If the two of them trust Murdock, that's good enough for me. And by extension, if he trusts the two of you, I accept that as well. We both have a man down. We need each other. And we should be getting a delivery here within the hour, so I suggest that we all get something to eat because this will be our last chance until we get our people out."

"Delivery?"

That one word was from B.A. Napoleon just gave him a smile.

"The two of you have much in the way of weapons?"

B.A. gave Hannibal a glance, then shook his head.

"Couple of handguns is all."

"Thought as much. We're not sure exactly how large of a nest we may be heading into, so I arranged for some gear."

Fortunately, the hotel had a small dining area. The food available was mostly in the line of soup and sandwich, but they were edible. Everyone was getting keyed up enough that they weren't really tasting their food anyway. When he saw a truck pulling up outside, Napoleon left the group and went out to meet it and sign for the delivery.

The other five waited until the truck had left again to join Napoleon. The box had been left by the van and when it was opened, Napoleon knew he'd gotten it right by the look in the other team's eyes.

"Time to get loaded and ready. And now? Let's hope for the best, shall we?"

Pulling out his communicator, Napoleon contacted headquarters.

"Open Channel D - Solo here. I need a trace on Agent Kuryakin."

In Shennelle's car, inside the inner pocket of a jacket that remained crumpled and forgotten on the floorboard, a small silver pen began to give off a signal.


	17. Chapter 17

**Part XVII - Closing In**

This whole situation was feeling more and more alien to Face. He was used to figuring out the motivations and desires of people around him. He prided himself as being good at that – it was one thing that made him an excellent conman. It had him more than a little bothered that he could not for the life of him figure out what the blonde across from him was doing.

Well, actually he knew what Illya was doing. He was deflecting all of their captor's venom onto himself. What Face couldn't figure was **why** the man was doing it. What was in it for him? Less than twenty-four hours ago, they'd been total strangers. Did the man feel responsible for him because he'd been mistaken for his partner? That made even less sense to Face. After all, it wasn't as if Illya had caused the woman to mistake him for whoever this Napoleon was.

Still, even though Illya was very much in the worse position, he seemed determined to watch out for Face. Again, why? The only person in his life that he'd ever known to just do something without anything in it for themselves was Murdock. And Murdock was – well, Murdock. Ordinary rules just never seemed to apply to his best friend and, after awhile, Face had come to accept that.

Illya wasn't in Murdock's category though. As much as Murdock had an almost fey nature, the Russian hanging from the wall seemed as grounded as bedrock. His original thought was that Illya had been getting him in position to run a scam, but then it hit him. This guy had no clue who or what Templeton Peck was. The only scam that the Russian seemed to have in mind was the one convincing the woman that they were partners. And Face had been grateful for that one – considering her temper, he wasn't at all sure what she would have done if she'd decided that she'd wasted her time with him. Still, this was hitting Face in his pride. He wasn't just some guy off the street. He was a soldier and more than that. He wasn't **a** conman – he was **the** conman.

Giving another glance over to the Russian, Face took a deep breath and shifted his mind set a touch. He stopped questioning motives and added Illya to his mental list of teammates. And Templeton Peck was not dead weight on his team. It was time to show Mister Kuryakin exactly why Face was a member of his team.

Immediately, he began to think of how he could con his way to freedom for both of them. First thing was obvious – he was going to have to seriously smooze the woman, who he estimated to be more Hannibal's contemporary than his own. Well, that wasn't that big of a deal. He'd worked his charms on women of all ages including grandmothers.

He thought over what he'd seen so far of her and began to settle details in his head about the woman. Vain - casually cruel in a way that sent shivers up his spine - intelligent but able to be manipulated. Illya had already been playing her – now Face would take his turn. When he heard the door opening again, he settled himself into his newest role of the woman's ardent admirer. She obviously had a healthy dislike for Illya – he'd put himself on the same side to move along the always important angle of building rapport.

The only twinge Face had about this whole scam was that he hoped Illya would understand and go along. He played the part of a guy stuck with a partner he didn't care for.

"Isportili brat."

While not at all sure what the first word meant, the second word relieved Face's nerves – Illya was playing along with where he was going. Still, it was fortunate that the woman herself had given Face a reason for the upset look that crossed his face over Illya's treatment - Illya's death in the field would reflect badly on him. She obviously accepted that explanation as she lowered herself to kiss him. That startled him for a moment just because he wasn't expecting it. But that pause only lasted a second or two - now they were at an area of expertise for Face.

He couldn't quite do his best work while still bound to a chair, but he could feel her responding to it as he kissed her back. He needed to convince her that he was totally taken with her. Once he was free of the chair, he might have a fighting chance to get them out of there. He had to ignore the disquieting sounds coming from Illya's direction – the woman in front of him needed his full focus. She was rising to the bait, he just had to continue to play this out carefully.

In the helicopter, Murdock was singing Doors tunes again adding his Southern twang to the lyrics as he took off with April and Napoleon in Juneytwo.

"Guuuuuuuurl, ya gotta love your man."

He flashed April a smile after that line and was rewarded with her grinning in return. Even better, he saw the tension in her shoulders lessen. Tension on a mission? Inevitable, but too much tension was a bad thing in Murdock's book. He didn't know Napoleon well enough to know if his tension was the good sort or the bad sort. He did suspect at least part of it was due to this being his virgin flight on Howlin' Mad Airlines.

Napoleon had thought things over and decided that there were worse things than Murdock's singing, so opted to ignore it so long as the pilot was still able to hear and respond to the course corrections he gave. The signal from Illya's communicator was growing steadily stronger – now he just had to keep the hope that it hadn't been tossed out of a car window.

"We should be in the vicinity now, Murdock."

The singing stopped immediately and the pilot slipped into mission mode. His voice was still almost sing-song, but there was a shift in overall demeanor.

"Pilot to navigator – roger that. We have some buildings up ahead and, were I not flat broke, I'd bet on those being our target."

"Where are you looking, Howler?"

"Ahead and to our left, Chiquita. That's a mighty fancy car over there among some pretty drab buildings."

Napoleon made quick use of a set of binoculars – the car did seem very out of place and a quick consultation with the signal made the distance about right as well.

"I think you would have won your wager, Murdock. I'll let the van know we have the area spotted."

"Roger that – I'm going to stay out and circle until the van catches up. We don't want Juneytwo alerting them yet."

In the van, Hannibal and Mark had been swapping stories back and forth. Mark was just four months older than Hannibal, so they found common ground fairly easily. Having similar tastes in music and movies helped. B.A. just listened with vague amusement as he kept one eye on the helicopter ahead on and the other on the road. He'd never really heard the Colonel speaking with someone before that Hannibal treated like an equal.

Everything went silent as a call came in from Napoleon. Mark listened carefully then spoke up to his two traveling companions.

"Looks like we're almost there, lads. Let's just keep in mind going in that the woman in question is a sore loser. We give her too much warning, she's likely to kill just for spite."

A quick consultation between the two groups came up with a plan – the trio in the van would go in on foot and determine where their missing men were. Once they were set, the crew of the Juneytwo would raise a little ruckus to help keep everyone off-balance. No telling what condition or circumstances the two men were in, so the less time the opposition had to react, the better.

B.A. got as close as he dared, then parked the van and joined Hannibal in taking up some of the weapons Napoleon provided, a Colt AR-15 as well as a Smith & Wesson 59. Mark stuck to his own U.N.C.L.E. special as the three men left the van behind and headed for the buildings. There were three of them, so it was decided to split up to cover the area quicker.

As it turned out, none of them made it all the way to their assigned building. Just as they were starting to make their moves, they heard the indignant scream of a very angry woman.


	18. Chapter 18

**Part XVIII – Decisions, Decisions**

Shennelle amused herself with Peck for several minutes while her men were busy with Kuryakin. It was almost disappointing when they were ready for her. Almost. The man was an excellent kisser, but tormenting the Russian had the greater appeal for the moment.

Toying with Peck's hair, she looked over Kuryakin's back, studying the various marks and scarring there. A smile formed as she undid the restraint keeping Peck in his chair. She left his wrists cuffed behind him for now, took hold of his arm and led him over to where Kuryakin was.

No clothing remained to block her view of the blonde Russian. He was still damp and shivering as she reached over and drew a fingernail over a section of his back. She knew the shivering wasn't from fear, but it was still satisfying to watch.

"I've decided that I'll keep part of you with me, Kuryakin. Just a small part. I suppose it might cause some significant damage, but honestly, since all you'll be doing in the near future is dying, I can't see that it really matters."

Moving Peck a little closer, she took one of the unused manacles near Kuryakin and locked it around the chain of Peck's cuffs to tether him. Then she moved over to a standing brazier and hummed to herself as she began to get the fire going in it. A glance over to Kuryakin showed that he wasn't paying the slightest attention to her. Well, she was certain she'd have his attention soon enough.

While the brazier was heating up, she moved over to open a small case and look over her equipment. She looked over the variety before pulling out one that she hadn't used in years. The four inch blade of the skinning knife gleamed wickedly as she examined it then began to sharpen it. The sounds of the sharpening echoed in the area rather nicely, but seemed to affect Peck far more than Kuryakin. It wouldn't hurt to have that extra reminder to Peck that she was not a lady to be trifled with.

Once satisfied with the edge, Shennelle carefully laid the blade down before going over to check the brazier and adding a bit more fuel to it. The next thing she did was call to one of her men, who brought her a loaded syringe. Peck was eyeing that apprehensively.

"What's that for?"

"It's not for you, my dear. It's for Mister Kuryakin. I like to keep my cuts nice and even so it won't do to have him shifting around."

She took a moment to inject the Russian agent, then gave Kuryakin a pat on the shoulder.

"We'll just give that a minute to work. Don't worry. You might not be able to move, but you'll still be able to feel everything."

Handing the syringe back to her man, Shennelle gave the brazier another check. Satisfied she went back, collected the knife and began to heat the blade in the brazier. She touched the hot metal to the back of Kuryakin's thigh to test if the drug had taken effect. No flinching, but a grunt of pain. Perfect.

She had just finished making the first long cut when something hit her and she fell back. It took Shennelle a moment to realize two things. First, Peck had made use of his legs not being restrained to knock her away from Kuryakin. Second, some of her hair had come in contact with the red-hot side of the brazier and the air was filled with the horrid odor of burnt hair.

The ruin of her hair plus the fact that Peck was obviously not as enamored with her as he'd pretended to be got a full-fledged shriek of rage from Shennelle. She grabbed up the knife from where it had dropped to the floor and started toward Peck.

Just as she was almost close enough to use the blade on that pretty face of his, her attention was forced away by the sound of shattering wood. A thickly muscled black man she'd never seen before had kicked in the door, closely followed by two other men. One of whom she'd seen before. With that damned pilot in Croatia. The pilot must have recognized her and called in backup. Her two men would only slow them for a moment.

Shennelle turned her head to look at her two captives, her eyes briefly meeting Peck's before a rather unpleasant looking smile formed – then she kicked over the brazier. The building was old. She figured it should go up rather quickly. The invading trio would have to choose between following her or preventing the men chained to the wall from dying in the fire. If she was very lucky, all five of them would get trapped in the blaze and die.

Not really worried about them abandoning the two men, Shennelle ran outside and made a beeline for her car's backseat. Ripping open the compartment, she allowed Kuryakin's holster and gun to fall to the floor as she grabbed her own gun. That was when the distinctive sound of a helicopter approaching reached her ears.

She didn't have to look to know it was that damned CIA man from the restaurant. More of a surprise was that she recognized the woman in the seat next to Howlin' Mad. Shennelle made her decision is a flash. Raising her gun, she pointed it directly at the woman and fired.


	19. Chapter 19

**Part XIX - Playing with Fire**

During the greater part of their captivity, Illya could have easily been mistaken for being asleep or unconscious except for the occasional glare or remark he had made to bolster Face's ruse with the woman. Illya wasn't sure where Face had gotten his talents from. but he did note that the man could adjust, think on his feet and read cues in a way that he wished half the young agents trying to come into the field could match.

Listening as the woman spoke to Face, Illya was reminded of that one musical Napoleon had drug him to years ago. 'Damn Yankees', yes - that was the name of it. The woman reminded him of the Devil's temptress, Lola. She was so convinced she was irresistible. Just as well he was facing the wall now. Eye rolling wouldn't likely be taken well if the gag he was currently having to deal with was any indication.

His main wish at the moment would be to be able to stop his body from shivering. However, the combination of no clothing, a chill, drafty building and damp skin made the chances of controlling that involuntary reflex highly unlikely. Shame. Illya was quite certain that if he was able to suppress the shivering, it would annoy her tremendously.

His mental musing reminded him of Napoleon. His partner always gave him periodic warnings that his 'hobby' of annoying (or as he phrased it, pissing off) their various tormentors would result in one of them killing him some day. This current woman certainly seemed unstable enough that she might prove Napoleon's prediction to be correct.

Cursing himself, he realized that he must have actually gone out for a few minutes when he gave an involuntary start as the woman ran a fingernail over his back.

"I've decided that I'll keep part of you with me, Kuryakin."

Since he was fairly certain that she wasn't talking about a lock of hair, that sounded a bit ominous. A glance to the side showed him that Face was out of the chair. Unfortunately, he was still cuffed and she was now in the process of attaching one of the wall chains to his cuffs. Apparently she wanted him to have a good view of whatever floor show she was about to begin. On the plus side, the brief glance had seemed to indicate that Face was both alert and relatively unharmed.

On the negative side of the ledger, he could hear her starting a fire somewhere. The temptation to cast a glance over was strong, but the desire to irritate her with disinterest was stronger still. The smell of heating metal was unwelcome but not as unwelcome as the hypodermic needle piercing his skin and injecting unknown icy contents into his body.

"We'll just give that a minute to work. Don't worry. You might not be able to move, but you'll still be able to feel everything."

He invented a few descriptive names for the woman - none flattering, of course. A groan escaped Illya as he lost the ability to keep on his feet properly and the full weight of his body drug at his shoulders and wrists. The next sound that came put was a grunt of pain at the unexpected touch of heated metal against his inner thigh. He wasn't sure how well he could manage it, but he was determined to at least try not to let out another sound even as he felt the long, sharp pain of a knife being drawn through the skin on the left side of his lower back.

Then Illya really wished that he was still able to turn his head. The stench of burnt hair plus the banshee-like shrieking coming from the woman was definitely an indicator that something had happened. Although he had to guess, he was of the opinion that Face was no longer flirting with the woman. That might be a very dangerous move on the young man's part.

Thoughts on that were jarred away by the sound of splintering wood and fighting. Then he smelled fire, but this time, it didn't smell contained. Chyort voz'mi.

There was nothing Illya hated worse than helplessness. Right now, even had the manacles disappeared, he would not be able to extract himself from the building, let alone help Face. The only thing he could do was listen to the noises around him and smell as the smoke from the fire grew stronger.

As B.A. kicked the door in, Mark was happy that the pair with him weren't just shooting in randomly. In fact, once they'd seen there were only two men in the immediate are, they seemed quite satisfied to start to beat the pulp out of them. That was fine by Mark. The woman was making a break for it, but flames were already catching and spreading too fast for his peace of mind. Especially after he caught his first glimpse of Illya - nude and with his left leg red from the blood coming out of a long slice in his lower back. What made that sight even worse was the lifeless way Illya was slumped without even the slightest struggling despite the obvious and immediate danger.

Pulling out his tools as he approached Illya, Mark realized that the other man must know something about picking locks as he responded to the sight.

"Release me first. I can help you with Illya. If you undo just one cuff and give me a pick, I'll finish mine then move over. He's got four manacles to deal with."

That made sense to Mark. This had to be H.M.'s friend, Face. They were running out of time rapidly, so he went to work on the left cuff and then handed the man one of his picks before turning his attention to freeing Illya.

"Free his ankles first. She injected something into him to keep him still, so he'll collapse on you if you do the wrists first."

It showed who the lock expert was when Face had himself free, unlocked Illya's left ankle and was starting on Illya's left wrist by the time Mark finished on the right ankle. The smoke was starting to sting Mark's eyes as he moved up to take care of the last manacle. He saw from the corner of his eye as Face pulled a wad of cloth out of Illya's mouth and tossed it to the side before wrapping his arms around the Russian's body to support him as his body was finally freed of the restraints.

Looking around, Mark was having some trouble seeing now and started coughing. Then he caught sight of Hannibal. The man had located a garden hose from somewhere and was making use of it to try and keep a way to the door open. But the amount of water a hose that size could put out was losing ground to the fire. Hannibal must not have been able to get a good look at them either through the smoke.

"Mark! If you can move them, now would be a good time to get the hell out of here."

Mark saw Face's expression light up at that familiar voice and he headed for his commanding officer while still hanging onto Illya, with Mark close behind the pair.

Back with the helicopter, April and Napoleon spotted Shennelle running from the building to the car at the same time. Once Murdock's attention was drawn to 'Hurricane Hannah', he swooped down with Juneytwo. Next thing that Napoleon knew, Murdock was yelling.

"Down in the back and hold on!"

Murdock had used what would best be termed as a military command voice. Even as long as Napoleon had been out of the service, he responded without thinking to that 'move now or lose your head' tone. Then everything happened in rapid sequence. The helicopter slewed to the side - there was the sound of something hitting the helicopter - then April screamed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Part XX - Crash and Burn**

This wasn't Face's idea of a good time even though kissing an attractive woman was involved. His mind kept comparing her to a cobra - an image he had to keep fighting to maintain a flirting attitude with her. A little hope sprang up as she released him from the chair, but that was tempered because she left his wrists cuffed behind him. When she made use of one of another set of manacles to tether him, Face had the distinct feeling that he wasn't going to like what she was about to do. This was probably going to be the acid test she used to make sure she could trust him. He had a feeling he was going to fail this particular test.

The things that she was doing to Illya were as hard for him to comprehend as some of the things he'd seen during the war. But that had been war. This was Los Angeles - well, close to it. They'd driven here so they had to still be in California. From the way they'd been speaking back and forth, the woman and Illya had never even met before. The venom in her voice when Murdock was mentioned - or Howlin' Mad as she referred to him - was unmistakable. Much as he really wanted to be far from here, he hoped his friend stayed far away from this crazy woman.

When she called over to one of her men and he handed her a syringe, a hard pit formed in his stomach and he couldn't help blurting out.

"What's that for?"

"It's not for you, my dear. It's for Mister Kuryakin. I like to keep my cuts nice and even so it won't do to have him shifting around."

Bad feeling confirmed. From his glimpse of Illya's face as the drug was injected, the sensation was far from pleasant. Or maybe Illya disliked needles as much as he did.

The soft and almost unheard moan that made it past the gag when she sliced Illya's back was the last straw for Face. She wasn't paying any attention to him at the moment and she was in range. Without any real thought to the consequences, Face made full use of the mobility the tether gave him and kicked out to knock her away from Illya even as she was positioning her knife to take the next cut.

The sequence that followed was more chaotic than he would have believed possible, but it was almost as if his kick had knocked over a domino and set off a chain reaction. The woman hadn't been expecting any actions against her from Face and so the kick affected her far more than it might have otherwise. The knife flew from her hand as she flailed backwards. She slipped, ironically, on one of the wet pieces of scraps of cloth that had once been the grey pullover she'd shredded. She didn't hit her head on the hot brazier, but her hair did come in contact with the hot sides. In truth, she was lucky that the hair didn't actually catch fire, but the hair scorched and shriveled - and stank.

The shriek she let out was still ringing in his ears when next domino to fall was heralded by the sound of a door being kicked in. Face didn't look to see who was forcing their way in. His attention had been caught by her eyes and the expression 'green like poison' sprang to his mind at the look he saw in those emerald eyes of hers. Then it got worse. She just gave him a sadistic smile and kicked out herself. Not at him. At the hot brazier.

Then she was gone and Face was left to jerk against the chain keeping him attached to the wall. Not that Face wanted to die in any fashion, but he couldn't imagine many worse ways of going than by burning to death. For some reason, the thought that he wouldn't even leave a decent looking corpse that way bothered him more than it logically should have.

Then a man was suddenly in front of him with the most beautiful things in the world in his hands - lock picking tools. He wondered if this might be Napoleon - the man's focus was all on Illya, but Face broke in to get his attention. If the man could just get one of Face's hands free, he could help with Illya and then they could all get the hell out of this death trap.

Whoever this man was, he could pick a lock, but he didn't have Face's speed at it. Face undid four locks (two of his own and two on Illya) in less time than it took the other man to do two of Illya's. Just as well. It meant Face was free to get rid of the gag. It was getting hard enough to breathe in the area without the cloth blocking the air. Face then wrapped his arms around the slightly smaller man to support Illya so that he wouldn't fall to the floor in a heap when the last cuff opened.

His first clue that the man with him wasn't Napoleon was hearing Hannibal call out the name 'Mark'. Hannibal's voice sounded so good to him right then that if the man had been any closer, Face might have embarrassed them both by kissing him. As it was, he just shifted his hold enough so that he could carry Illya and headed straight for where he'd heard the Colonel's voice.

Out front, B.A. was keeping an eye on the two men that had been inside where Face was being held along with another man that had come to check out the noise. B.A. wasn't sure how much much they could trust the Fool's friend, but he didn't suppose they had a lot of choice at this point. He and Hannibal had both seen the chains and searched these guys for the keys. They didn't have them and neither of them knew how to pick locks. Murdock knew how, but he was with the helicopter.

Still, it was getting nerve-wracking, especially as the smoke was getting worse. Then there was the distinctive sound of a gunshot coming from around the other side of the building. A woman's scream could barely be heard over the helicopter noises.

Part of B.A. was relieved when he saw Hannibal helping Face out with a blonde man followed by Mark. Another part of him jerked his head up when he heard a sound that he wished he'd never had to hear again. The sound of a helicopter in distress.

Hannibal disliked having to leave getting Face out to someone else, but he figured the best things he could do would be to try and keep a way out open and to stay near enough to the entrance to be able to give them a voice to focus on if the smoke got too bad for them to make out which way to go.

Why there was a garden hose in there? Hannibal wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he traced it back to the spigot and turned the water on. It was more than a little like trying to fight a fire with a squirt gun, but he soaked the areas by the entrance that weren't already burning to try and slow down the spread of the blaze. But the heat was starting to dry the old timbers almost as fast as he could dampen them.

"Mark! If you can move them, now would be a good time to get the hell out of here."

He was soon rewarded by the sight of a coughing Face coming at him through the smoke. The slight blonde man must be the Illya they'd been speaking of. He didn't try to take the man from Face - he just wrapped his arm around to help support them both as they made their way clear of the building. He looked back for Mark and he saw the Englishman drop to his knees just past the doorway. He helped Face to the ground with the other man, then Hannibal went back and hauled Mark up.

"Come on, let's get you to some fresher air, pal."

Then Hannibal froze and unconsciously tightened his grip on Mark as he heard the same noises that had claimed B.A.'s attention. Wherever Murdock was, he was in trouble.

Just a few minutes before with the helicopter, Murdock had moved Juneytwo to get nearer to the car Hurricane Hannah had gone into. He was already puzzled as to why the backseat and not the front when he saw the woman come up with gun in hand. Murdock was suddenly back in Vietnam in more ways than one. Subconsciously, he went into full combat mode.

"Down in the back and hold on!"

Murdock jerked hard on the controls, making Juneytwo slew suddenly to the right and down just as the woman's gun went off. April let out a scream as the bullet ripped through part of the control panel and into Murdock. He was ignoring the hit as he was trying to keep Juneytwo under control. Juneytwo was bucking against him and his knuckles were white against the controls as he fought with her.

"Napoleon - April! Bail out. I can't hold her much longer."

The dirt and debris being kicked up by the rotors were currently keeping the woman from getting in a good shot, but she was still firing. He was managing to hold Juneytwo down but he couldn't keep that up too much longer. Thankfully, both April and Napoleon must have realized that and got out - though it looked like Napoleon might have had to drag April some. It was a drop for them, but nothing that they shouldn't be able to handle. The second that they were clear, he wrestled the controls forward to get Juneytwo even closer to the woman so that she couldn't get a clear fix on the two agents while they were regaining their footing.

He could see her screaming at him, but he couldn't hear what she was saying, of course. She turned her attention to firing at the helicopter again and the next lurch from Juneytwo told him that this particular lady had likely just flown her last mission. Fighting against the controls again, the helicopter's right skid landed heavily on the woman's car, crushing down the roof and making her have to run from it.

"I'm so sorry, baby. You did good though."

Wincing, Murdock held onto the controls as long as he dared as Juneytwo tilted to her left slightly. Dropping out of the pilot's seat, the helicopter's ruined controls made her buck upwards as soon as Murdock's hands weren't fighting against it any longer. The left skid gave Murdock a glancing blow on the way past, causing him to land badly.

He hadn't even managed to draw in a decent breath when Murdock heard the woman cursing at him. He didn't currently have the ability to move enough to even look at her.

"You! You always ruin everything!"

The sound of an explosion rang out, drowning out whatever else was being said.

_I hope April didn't have to put a deposit down on Juneytwo - she'll never get it back. _With that thought, he just braced himself for the inevitable gunshot.


	21. Chapter 21

**Part XXI - Irritations**

Shennelle was having a bad day. She wasn't even able to keep the scowl off of her face by this point. But she was going to make things a little better by spraying Howlin' Mad with his twin's blood. She had tried to track down the two of them and the other man after they ruined her job in Croatia, but she's never been able to find out where they had all disappeared to. No matter - today, she would be getting payback. She still wasn't sure of their real names - just Howlin' Mad, April and Higgins, all of which she assumed to be their codenames. She'd pieced together their relationship from the scraps of information gathered in the aftermath.

Tempting as it would have been to shoot the pilot, she knew from the way that he responded to her going after the hostages that she could hurt him far worse by taking out his sister. She was in the process of pulling the trigger when the helicopter made a sudden move. Shennelle startled as it whipped around. The gun went off, but she wasn't holding it as steadily as she had been. That plus the shifting of her target meant that she missed shooting April. Still, Shennelle was pleased when she noticed that she had apparently damaged the helicopter - if the odd movements and the strain she could make out on the pilot's face were any indication.

It was hard to enjoy though because of the dirt, leaves and other light objects being picked up and flung. She fired a couple of additional times, but without really taking time to aim. Then she made out that two people were dropping down the seven foot or so of distance between the helicopter and the ground. Before she could try and aim in their direction though, the helicopter moved closer to her, whipping what remained of her hair into Medusa-like strands.

Cursing at Howlin' Mad, she fired what was left in her gun into the helicopter and was rewarded as the machine began to make a noise that sounded unhealthy even to her untrained ears. Then she screamed more curses down on the pilot as the helicopter suddenly dipped and crushed down the roof of her car. Shennelle scrambled away from the wreckage then watched as the pilot fell out of the helicopter and landed heavily to the ground.

The helicopter's controls had apparently been severely damaged as it took off on its own now that the pilot wasn't fighting it any longer. Focusing on said pilot, a malicious smile formed on her face as she made note of two things - the blood stain that was growing on his shirt and the fact that he didn't seem able to get back up on his own.

"I should have tried harder to track you down and kill you after Croatia."

Her focus on him was single-minded as she made her way over to him. All the money she had lost on that mission. All the money she'd be losing now that she'd had to sacrifice Kuryakin.

"You! You always ruin everything!"

The sound of an explosion drew her attention away briefly and she took a moment to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing the helicopter in flames.

"Missing your helicopter already? It's a pile of burning slag now. Why don't I send you to join it?"

Shennelle put the muzzle right against Murdock's head and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Nothing. Then she growled to herself. Of course nothing. She'd emptied the gun into the helicopter. Just a momentary setback though. She ejected the clip and let it fall to the ground as she reached for another one.

"I really wouldn't complete that movement if I were you, Miss."

Turning toward the sound of the smooth masculine voice, Shennelle took in the features of the man pointing his gun at her. A moment later, the realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

"You. You're Napoleon Solo."

"Guilty as charged. Where's my partner?"

She allowed a smile to form as she gestured toward the building that now had flames shooting from its roof.

"You mean your former partner? He and his new partner were chained in there. By now, they should be cremated."

The expression on his face was priceless. Shennelle was enjoying it thoroughly when there was a light tap on her shoulder. When she turned toward it, she felt a sudden jolt of pain, then nothing.


	22. Chapter 22

**Part XXII - No Man Left Behind**

Dropping out of the helicopter took Napoleon's breath, but he was scrambling for April and then for cover as shots continued to ring out. It only took a minute for him to realize that none of those shots were aimed at the two of them.

There was a sickening crunch as the roof of the car gave way underneath the skid of the helicopter. They could see the woman they were after moving away from the car, but with the dust being kicked up and the closeness of helicopter, neither risked a shot. April gasped and Napoleon watched along with her as Murdock's body fell from the helicopter and impacted the ground hard. From their angle, it was impossible to tell if he was alive or dead.

April starting to move was what alerted Napoleon to the threat - the woman with the gun still in her hand approaching Murdock slowly. As they headed over, their approach was covered by the explosion when the helicopter finally fell from the sky and slammed into a small grove of trees. Neither of them felt clear headed enough after the drop from the helicopter to risk a long-distance shot yet. He had a nasty feeling that they weren't going to make it in time.

Murdock still wasn't moving as the woman pressed her gun against his forehead. To Napoleon's huge relief, the gun clicked, but no shot went off. The woman's focus was entirely on the downed pilot as she ejected the empty clip from her gun. Napoleon decided that it was high time to remind her that she wasn't alone and spoke to prevent her from pulling out what he presumed would be another clip for her weapon.

The woman Murdock had dubbed 'Hurricane Hannah' looked as disheveled as her name as she turned to face him. He saw her study him and he saw the confusion followed by what he could only describe as the light dawning for her.

"You. You're Napoleon Solo."

"Guilty as charged. Where's my partner?"

The woman referring first to Illya as his ex-partner then making mention of Illya's new partner was puzzling, but any thought of questioning that was driven out of his mind by her pleasure at informing him that she'd left Illya inside of a burning building. He'd never been so tempted to shoot an unarmed woman in his life.

His eyes were still on the flames when he heard the woman grunt. Napoleon turned in time to see her drop to the ground as April shook her hand.

"I think I may have bruised my hand on her jaw, but it was worth it."

April looked like she wanted to give the woman a hard kick for good measure, but a moan from Murdock claimed her attention. She darted over to him while Napoleon winced as the roof collapsed down on the building.

Before he could do anything else, Napoleon saw Mark and Hannibal come into sight. Hannibal broke out into a run when he caught sight of Murdock while Mark called out to Napoleon when he noted the direction Napoleon had looked away from.

"Illya's not in there, mate. He's alive. Door we took was on the backside of the building. Go on and check on your partner - I'll secure Hannah there, then help with H.M."

Napoleon just nodded and headed around to the other side. B.A. had convinced the men he was still guarding to 'donate' some of their own clothing which he had ripped up for Face to use to make a pressure bandage for the cut on Illya's back. Not having been filled in on his partner's condition beyond alive, he wanted to get a good look at Illya himself, but he gave a smile to the young man tending him.

"You must be Faceman."

"And you must be Napoleon. You know, flattered as I am, I don't see the resemblance between us."

"Nor I. Especially seeing as I'm old enough to be your - older brother."

The soft snort coming out of the Russian was the nicest thing Napoleon had heard in awhile. Reaching down, he ran a hand over his partner's hair as if to assure himself that he was really there. Just then, his communicator signaled an incoming call.

"Solo here."

"Mister Solo. We have received information seeming to indicate that the T.H.R.U.S.H. operation in Los Angeles is just a ruse to draw yourself and Mister Kuryakin into the open. I would advise extreme caution."

"Thank you for the alert, sir, but we'd already figured that one out. The hard way. We're going to need medical treatment for Mister Kuryakin as well as for a former associate of Agents Dancer and Slate. We also have four of the enemy that need to be taken to a secured area."

"I see. Keep the channel open on your communicator, Mister Solo. Help will be arriving shortly."

"We appreciate that, Mister Waverly. We'll be standing by."

Face and B.A. were both frowning at Napoleon's words.

"Murdock's hurt?"

"Yes."

Since he didn't know the extent of the injuries, Napoleon decided to leave it at that. He knew that distressed look that Face had all too well.

"Why don't you pass me my partner and go check on your friend?"

Face was slightly reluctant to leave Illya, but concern over Murdock won out and he shifted places with Napoleon.

"Whatever that stuff is she drugged him with seems to be starting to wear off but he still can't control his movement very well."

Taking in that information with a frown, Napoleon moved his hand into place to hold down the makeshift pressure bandage. Face scrambled up and Napoleon saw him briefly stop to lay a hand on B.A.'s shoulder on the way by. He returned his attention to his own partner then.

"Kak ty sebya chuvstvuesh, tovarich?"

Illya attempted to answer, but between the lack of water and the smoke inhalation, the only sound he made was more like a croak that turned into some painful sounding coughing.

"I think we got some juice in the van. If you can watch these suckers, I'll go get it."

"Thanks, B.A. - we'd both appreciate that."

Looking at the three men, Napoleon very deliberately drew his gun.

"As for you three, I am already in a highly irritable mood. Being highly irritable has been known to make me want to shoot things so I would strongly advise against giving me an excuse to indulge my desires."

It didn't take long for B.A. to come back with the juice and something cloth as well.

"Faceman asked me to give you these. Just a pair of pajama bottoms and a blanket, but -"

He just let that trail off and sat the things down next to Napoleon before going back to guard the men, April was heading over with a very disgruntled woman to add her to the knot of prisoners. The beginnings of a spectacular bruise was already starting to color the woman's face. Considering the number of cuts and other injuries on his partner, Napoleon rather hoped April had broken the woman's jaw.

Napoleon found it was a little tricky getting the pants onto Illya's limp form, but it was far from the first time he'd had to help dress him. Between that and getting the blanket wrapped around him, the shivering lessened a great deal even if it didn't stop altogether. As he started getting some of the juice into Illya, Face and Hannibal came back around, carrying Murdock between them. Mark followed right behind them carrying Illya's jacket, holster and weapon that he'd spotted in the back of the ruined car.

"Mark? Would you take over B.A.'s guard duty and send him over here? I need to talk with Murdock's teammates."

Hannibal and Face settled Murdock down. He already had a blanket around him identical to the one around Illya. As B.A. joined them, they were uneasy. Napoleon certainly couldn't blame them for that.

"Gentlemen. Help is on the way, but considering the amount of explanation that would be needed to keep the three of you from getting sent back to Fort Bragg, it might be best if you were to clear out of the area while there's time. I know asking you to trust us with Murdock is asking a lot, but I assure you that I'll make sure he gets the same calibur of treatment that my partner does."

B.A. glanced over to where the helicopter still smoldered.

"Fool ain't gonna get in trouble over that, is he?"

"He's not the one that shot it down. Our 'friend' over there gets the full and well deserved blame for that."

Hannibal smirked at that.

"I believe I said it before, but it still applies. Couldn't happen to a more deserving woman. Who slugged her?"

"That would be our darling April. She tends to have a protective streak regarding her friends."

"Da. Good thing she is on our side."

The voice coming from Illya was still hoarse, but at least he didn't start coughing again. Another soft voice spoke up next.

"I'll be alright with them, Colonel. Please - I don't want to be the reason you and the guys get caught."

It was easy to tell that the thought didn't set too well with any of the team, but Hannibal finally nodded.

"You still know how to reach us when you're ready, right Captain?"

"Yessir."

Hannibal took his man's hand briefly as he looked to Napoleon.

"Where do you want us to leave the gear?"

The amused look he suddenly noted in the hazel eyes puzzled Hannibal for a moment before Napoleon spoke.

"You mean the gear that was lost when the building over there burned down? Shame we lost it all on this operation. She started the fire, she can take the blame for the loss of the gear as well."

April came over in time to hear the last of what Napoleon said and then settled down with Murdock. That's when Hannibal's reluctance to leave sank in with Napoleon.

"You aren't leaving a man behind, Colonel. You're leaving him with family for medical care."

"I'll keep a close watch over my twin here, Hannibal. I swear."

Hannibal looked at April holding Murdock's head in her lap then looked over to the woman sporting the multi-colored jaw. Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders.

"Let's go, men. No telling how soon the others will be here. We'd appreciate updates."

"We'll find a way to get them to you."

Napoleon had a little blood on the hand that he offered to Hannibal, but that didn't stop Hannibal from taking it.

"Circumstances aside, it's been a pleasure, Agent Solo."

"Likewise, Colonel Smith. Until we meet again."


	23. Chapter 23

**Part XXIII - War and Sex**

While Hannibal was shaking hands with Solo, Face was next to Murdock. Normally, he'd have put a hand on Murdock's arm or shoulder, but he was afraid of aggravating an injury.

"Guess we have to put off that week at the beach together, buddy."

"Guess so, Faceman. Wicked Witch of the West over there is a real plan spoiler. Hey - you alright?"

"Other than needing to gargle with disinfectant? Yeh, I'm fine. All of this - how did you pull it off?"

Murdock just gave a grin that hid how tired he felt.

"Napoleon and I made a deal. I helped him get his best friend back, he helped me get mine back. Oh - and you remember the lady I told you about. April Showers, meet Faceman. Face, this is my unoffically official twin, April."

April just smirked a bit as she offered Face her hand.

"Yes - I exist. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Face had just taken her hand when Hannibal called for them. B.A. reached out and briefly took hold of Murdock's arm with a light touch.

"You take care of yourself, Fool. We'll be back."

Face reached over and touched Illya's shoulder briefly.

"You take care as well, 'partner'.

"You as well, Litso."

Illya was able to shift enough now for the two sets of blue eyes to meet. Face flashed a grin and darted off to follow Hannibal before the Colonel called out again.

"You have a close team, Howler."

"War and sex, Chiquita."

"Excuse me?"

Murdock tilted his head back a bit in April's lap so that he could see her face.

"Those are the two things that either bond folks together forever or drive them apart for good."

"You have a peculiar way of looking at the world, Howler."

"You sure aren't the first to voice that opinion, Chiquita. That's why they have a room with my name on it at the looney bin."

"That's not right. You're different, but you're far from insane."

Taking her hand and holding it, Murdock closed his eyes. He gave a contented sigh as she began to stroke his hair.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Chiquita."

"Lady and gents - I do believe our reinforcements are arriving."

It was a flurry of activity then as the prisoners were taken away in one vehicle and the U.N.C.L.E. agents and Murdock in another before the cleanup team descended on the location.

Murdock felt at ease enough that he didn't fight going out. He had a moment of panic when he woke in a hospital bed until two soft words calmed him almost immediately.

"Vy prekrasny."

Well, either he had started hallucinating in Russian or he was somewhere with Illya. He decided that it was doubtful he had switched his usual auditory imaginings from Vietnamese and turned his head to find both blue and hazel eyes watching him. Illya was in a bed identical to his own, partner at his side. It was then that he felt a presense at his side as well and turned to look in the other direction. Both Mark and April were there.

"How are you feeling, Howler?"

"To be honest, pretty bruised, April Showers. And I have a nasty feeling that's not the worse of it. I lost it, didn't I?"

Mark and April exchanged a puzzled look before Mark questioned back.

"Lost what, H.M.?"

"My Morrison shirt. Blood's never going to come out of that, is it?"

"We'll get you another one, love. Least I can do. I saw who Shennelle was aiming at."

"Shennelle? You found out Hannah's real name?"

The answer came from Napoleon.

"Shennelle DuBois. She's apparently been in the femme fatale business since she was seventeen. Our Mister Slate had a chat with her and will be having another, I'm sure."

"She seems to think I have a schoolboy type crush on her."

"That is not surprising, Mark. She is Lola."

"Lola, partner?"

"Napoleon, did you not even pay attention to the theatre when you were the one that drug me to see the show?"

Napoleon gave a thoughtful frown, then suddenly smiled.

"The temptress."

April laughed as the reference clicked with her and she sang one of the lines she recalled.

"You're no exception to the rule - I'm irresistable, you fool."

Mark chuckled.

"That does seem to be her mindset."

Gingerly reaching down, Murdock encountered bandaging at his waist.

"So - how long are we in for?"

"Not long. Just two days to make sure there isn't any infection and to get you both rehydrated from bloodloss. You'll both need to take it a bit easy due to stitches, but you won't have to stay in the hospital for those. You lucked out, Murdock. The bullet grazed you fairly deeply, but didn't penitrate too deeply. Most of the blood was actually from the shrapnel from the helicopter being hit."

After he finished answering the question, he gave an amused glance down to his partner.

"Couldn't even stay out of trouble at a restaurant, eh?"

"It is not as if I went looking for it. Besides, considering it was all a rather elaborate trap, there are many far worse ways this could have ended."

"Oh Illya? You're going to love the way Napoleon here was described in the information packet she had that we found in the car along with your gear."

"And how is that, Mark?"

"American. Around five foot eleven inches. Stylish dresser. Womanizer."

Illya's shoulder started moving with suppressed laughter. April didn't bother to suppress hers.

"And here I thought that I was the only person that believed being so obviously American was one of your more distinctive traits."

Back in the van, B.A. was heading them back to the hotel. Hannibal was concerned about Murdock, but he was bound to be getting better medical care than he and the guys could provide. His other concern was for Face. The young conman had barely said a word since they left. Finally he glanced back at him.

"Face? Are you sure you're alright? You haven't been acting much like yourself."

"I'm fine, Hannibal. Just - confused, I guess. Illya barely knew me. I'm just a guy he randomly met at a restaurant and made small talk with for a little while. Then the stuff started with that woman. I thought she was going to take my head off, but Illya kept directing all of her anger towards himself. I don't get it. I really don't."

B.A. put in his two cents from the driver's seat.

"Can't say he's like I imagined a Russian agent would be like either."

Taking a cigar in hand, Hannibal looked at it as he thought of how to put what he was thinking into words.

"Well, I think that might be because he's not a Russian agent. He's an agent that happens to be Russian. I may be reading them wrong, but it seems to me that the U.N.C.L.E. agents have made their loyalties outside of their home countries. At the basic level though? They're like us - comrades in arms. Different war, but they're soldiers in it."

"And I may be guessing wrong again, Face, but my thought is that Kuryakin accepted that you were a solider that got caught up in a war you hadn't signed up for and took it on himself to take care of you. For which I owe the man."

Again, B.A. spoke up, but this time his voice was thoughtful.

"You know, that sounds kinda like how the Fool described Solo. Not exactly on our side, but still on the same side."

Turning that over in his head, Face settled back in his chair.

"I think I can see that. We aren't working for the same folks or for the same causes, but we're all trying to fight the good fight."

"Still not sure why they left us with this gear though. Ain't like they really know us."

Hannibal looked over to B.A.

"I think it comes down to what Solo said. Trust. Whatever it was they went through with Murdock, he earned it - they trust him without question. They took us on his word. Even knowing he's in a mental institution."

"Wait - what? They know about that?"

"And us as well, Lieutenant. I take it you missed the comment about Fort Bragg."

"Guess I did. I was concentrating on Murdock. I'm still adjusting to all those stories he told about the two agents being true."

"Still ain't gonna start believing him about that dog."


	24. Chapter 24

**Part XXIV – Three Times Makes a Habit**

A note was left under the wiper blade of the van the next day. Hannibal wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, but he had asked for updates, so he really couldn't complain about how they were delivered. Especially since it was good news. After reading it over, he summarized it for his men.

"Bruised ribs, grazed by a bullet – that needed stitches, some shrapnel from the helicopter getting shot up. Nothing too serious. Surprisingly, nothing broken. Since the shrapnel wasn't clean, they're going to be hanging onto Murdock long enough to make sure there's no infection from any of it. Says he was more upset about his t-shirt being ruined."

"Sounds like the Fool. Anything else?"

"Not really. Just that they'll get in touch again when Murdock's released."

They all breathed a little easier after that. Two days later, the phone in Face's hotel room rang. When he heard Murdock's voice, Face was glad that Hannibal and B.A. were in their own room. He was pretty sure that if they hadn't been, he would never have heard the end of the teasing over his reaction.

"Murdock! How are you feeling? Are you getting out? How's Illya doing?"

The laughter over the line sounded good.

"Breathe, muchacho, breathe. How about you ask everything in person tomorrow night? All of us will meet up back where this all began – at Amintore's. You and the guys are all invited. Seven o'clock and ask for the Showers party. We'll be in a private room. It's kinda neat. Turns out the guys know the owner of the place."

"Um – sure. I'll let Hannibal and B.A. know."

"Great! See you tomorrow, Faceman."

B.A. felt a little leery of the invitation, but had to admit that Hannibal had a point when he mentioned all that Solo would have had to do was stall them until their reinforcements had arrived that day if he'd wanted them caught. Not to mention, he'd obviously remembered where they were staying. There was a dozen ways they could have been taken by now with relatively little trouble. There was no need to go to any sort of elaborate ruse.

Still it felt a little odd going into the restaurant. They got more than a couple of glares from people who were already waiting for a table when they were shown straight to the private room. The others were already around the table with gaps for the rest of the team. Mark waved Hannibal over to the seat between himself and Napoleon, B.A.'s spot was between Mark and April which left Face between Illya and Napoleon.

Most of the initial conversation revolved around updates on Illya and Murdock's health, but soon began to turn to other subjects. It took a little work on April's part, but she had a gift for loosening people up and she soon had B.A. telling her about his mother in Chicago. During a brief lull, Napoleon spoke up to get everyone's attention.

"I hope no-one minds, but after speaking with Amintore, we decided to have dinner served family-style."

"What does that mean?"

Illya gave a small chuckle at B.A.'s question.

"Unless the apple has fallen a long distance from the tree, it means that none of us will leave hungry."

"It also means that we'll be serving ourselves for the most part. I thought that might make conversation a bit easier if we weren't always having to guard what we say. Not to mention fewer interruptions."

Murdock must have mentioned preferences, because among the wine and tea delivered was a large icy pitcher of milk, quickly claimed by B.A. At his place, Face took a sip of the wine in his glass and was very impressed. While he couldn't give out years and names on wine, he did know good wine from bad. This particular wine was in the excellent category.

"Do you approve of the selection, Mister Peck?"

"Very much. Oh, and please? Just Face. I'm a lot more used to that than Mister Peck."

Conversation brought out how old Face had been when he joined up with Hannibal - and what year that was. Napoleon gave an almost imperceptable wince after he did the math and figured out he was around eighteen years older than Face. While he knew he was older, Napoleon had been thinking ten, possibly twelve years at most. Then he caught the smirk on Illya's face and realized the wince had not gone unnoticed. There were times he was tempted to strangle his partner.

He was distracted from that line of thought by Face himself. He found the young man to be both intensely curious and a connoisseur of the finer things in life. Face just didn't have enough experience under his belt to know what all of those finer things were. Having a partner with little interest in such things, Napoleon found himself rather enjoying playing the role of mentor.

Illya and Murdock were deep in a conversation and seemed to be shifting languages at whim which was getting them the occasional bemused look from April. She was mainly concentrating on drawing out B.A., who was frankly stunned that she'd been in Cambodia. Hannibal and Mark continued to talk easily between them, comparing everything from guns to women.

Getting another helping of tortellini, Hannibal noticed with amusement that the U.N.C.L.E. agents had divided up hosting duties as well as conversational ones. Napoleon and April were keeping drinks filled while Illya and Mark were passing along platters whenever a plate was getting close to empty. Conversation was flowing as easy as the food and drink - Hannibal couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so relaxed when it wasn't just himself and his men. The restaurant had closed to the public before any of them even realized the time.

"Much as I regret the evening coming to an end, I'm afraid the time has come."

"Oh Napoleon - it seems like we just got here. And when will I have the chance again to be the only female in a room with seven such eligible males?"

"You aren't going to convince anyone that you have trouble attracting men, Chiquita."

"Attracting men and attracting men that you want to attract are not the same thing, Howler my darling. Stand up so I can give you a proper hug. Well, as good as I can give without hurting your stitches."

The hug actually was a little bit painful for Murdock, but he wouldn't have told her for the world. He just hugged a little tighter himself as he whispered to her.

"You listen, twin - you ever need a damn good pilot, you better come looking for me."

"Always my first choice, Howler. Always. So? Were you telling the truth about Faceman?"

"Go test for yourself, April Showers."

They exchanged light kisses before April moved over to Face and held a hand out to him.

"And it was a distinct pleasure to meet the best friend of my pseudo-twin."

Automatically standing before taking her hand, Face smiled at her, starting to speak when she suddenly took hold of him and moved for a kiss. While still an older woman, she was one far more to Face's tastes and he returned the kiss in full measure while Mark and Hannibal exchanged looks.

"Care to bet how long before they come up for air, mate?"

"I don't know. Might be awhile. Face has had deep-sea training with SCUBA gear."

"So has April. We could be here awhile."

Illya just cast a glance over to his partner.

"You know? I think I am beginning to see how Miss DuBois made the mistake. You are both sliced from the same fabric."

"That's _'cut from the same cloth'. _And maybe. Perhaps he's the one for the next generation."

"One per generation is probably the limit that the world can tolerate."

Any comeback to that was cutoff as Napoleon's communicator signaled. Napoleon moved away from the table to check in while April and Face finally came up for air. April and Face each seemed duly impressed with the other.

"If you two want to go for a record, April luv? Give me warning next time and I'll set a stopwatch."

"Oh hush, Mark."

Everyone stopped talking when Napoleon came back over.

"That rather settles it, folks. Duty calls. All four of us."

The remainder of the farewells was a bit rushed, but still managed to leave B.A. blushing a bit from April's kiss. As the A-Team climbed into their van, the U.N.C.L.E. agents gave a final wave before heading off themselves with a last call from Illya.

"Until we meet again, comrades."

Face waved back before settling down into his seat.

"Until we meet again - do you think we will meet again?'

"Don't see why not, best buddy of mine. It's a small world."

"You start singin' that song, I'm gonna come back there and hurt you."

"Settle down, men. Murdock's right though, Face. Always a chance."

With the other group, April was musing about the same thing as Face when Illya gave her arm a pat.

"This was the third time you have run across Murdock, yes? Three times makes a habit. You will see him again."


End file.
